MGS: The American
by espresso de gecko
Summary: **COMPLETE** Sequel to 'MGS:The Compilation' (read Compilation first) . Enjoy!...strong violence in Chapters 31, 32.
1. Go Code

Chapter One: Go Code  
  
  
  
The coffee house was not bustling with its normal activity, but as the morning sun struck Manhattan, setting light to the shimmering skyscrapers and the desolate 'dead cells' that died in their shadows, becoming like Swiss cheese – their windows all shattered – customers entered and exited the coffee house, grabbing their cold mochas and their espressos as they hurried off to work. A Monday…those were terrible.  
  
In the shadow of the World Trade Center buildings, which remained in reconstruction, the coffee house sat subtle and quiet, a customer moving to a small table in the center of the room, a laptop sitting on it's counter. Computer and coffee had become an unbelievably popular phenomenon throughout the United States and much of England, and only the popular chains like Starbucks and Panera Bread held up, for they were of the few corporations with the money needed for such an unnatural supply of computers.  
  
"Good morning!" and enthusiastic woman cried from behind the main service counter, to the customer as he passively gestured back with a subtle wave, and then took his seat. There was a backpack slung over his shoulder, it's stitching an odd red on a leather body. He glanced around for a moment, surveying the room, and then set the backpack at his feet as he looked up to the dim-screened laptop, his hands reaching for the keyboard, hungrily.  
  
"Good morning, sir," a waitress greeted him – order tablet in hand. He turned his head, noticing first, the torturing length of her jean shorts that were cut rigidly inches below her waistline, exposing the top strings of her bright green underwear. His eyes slowly lifted past her noticeably pierced belly button and her tank top that was cut, hanging just slightly over her breast. Her hair was wavy, falling to her shoulders in a glimmering blond bangle, and he grinned slightly, his eyes focused on her chest.  
  
"Why, good morning," he finally replied in a wide smile.  
  
"What would you like this morning? Or do you need a few moments?" He pondered this, and even though he knew exactly what he wanted, he nodded his head only slightly, smiling still. "Could you give me just a minute?" he asked, and she smiled in return, nodded her head, and then turned swiftly to the service counter, her walk a tantalizingly seductive dance. He peered after her, a longing in his heart and between his legs, but he shrugged it off for a moment, a slight smirk still imprinted on his face as he turned back to the laptop.  
  
He was young, the customer, and appeared no older than 25. His hair was fairly long, cut not too far down the neck, and just shaggy enough – but not too shaggy – to attract a great deal of women. His skin was tanned, accenting his brown (blond tipped) hair with a certain wild sensation. His hands were smooth, his arms firmly built, and his taste in clothes: very nice. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, its colors faded, that cut up halfway up the kink in his arm, showing off his muscle, and his pants were khakis – not too dressy, but not too crowded with those giant pockets. As he turned back to the laptop, what he didn't know was that the waitress's eyes were staring at him, just as his had stared at her.  
  
He worked his way through a few windows, using the touch-pad mouse – which he seemed a master of – to move through them, until he turned to his pack and began to unzip the smallest compartment: a pouch that was accessible on the front of the pack. Scavenging through it with his right hand, he pulled forth a thin CD case, concealing it in his lap as the waitress returned to take his order. "Ready?" she asked, and he turned, examining her great body again before answering with a slick tone.  
  
"Yea," he replied. "Could I have a Grande Mocha and a…hmm…Turkey Breast on sourdough?" He seemed to pronounce 'breast' with emphasis, and the waitress seemed too taken with his looks to write the order down, only nodding once before going off again, adding an extra bounce to her step…just for him. He grinned, noticing the extra bounce, and then returned to his computer, slipping the CD case from his lap and opening it on the table.  
  
Over the CD sat a slip of paper, folded once. He pulled it forward, reading it to himself as he moved through a few more windows before a notice popped onto the screen. It read:  
  
"C: Drive is locked to customers. If you are staff, enter the Lock Code to Unlock the CD-ROM"  
  
The man smiled a quick smile, and looked at the paper once more, entering the numbers on it, into the computer with his free hand. When he had concluded, he slid his fingers over the touch-pad and pressed down, lightly, as the cursor hovered over "OK."  
  
Suddenly, there was a lurching in the depth of the computer as it thought out loud, its voice implying that his request had been accepted and was slowly being processed. He waited impatiently, his hands tapping his thighs, playing a soft rhythm to himself. Quickly, that tune ceased. 'You gotta stay quiet,' he thought. 'Fit in, and it'll all go as planned.'  
  
Then, he heard growing footsteps behind him…they stopped, hovering over him like death. Slowly, he turned, seeing the waitress behind him, a tray held in the palm of her hand. On it sat a mug and saucer, along with a plate decorated with a colorful sandwich, lettuce and tomatoes slipping out on either side of the bread. The man looked up at her and set his index finger steadily over his lips, and hissed, "Shh."  
  
He held out his hand, stroking her leg lightly, and se quickly retreated a step, her nerves shattered. "Thank you," the man said, trying to make the scene a little less awkward, and at his smile, she could do nothing but smile, setting the tray on the counter and unloading his order beside the laptop. She quickly straightened, her eyes playing with his heart before she turned and hurried off to the service counter. 'She wont talk,' he thought, and he quickly returned to his laptop, cuddling his Mocha in his hands, taking a sip, setting it back on the saucer, and plucking the CD from its case as the CD-ROM slid out, revealing a single CD: the one responsible for running the Drive Lock software that had previously sat in his way.  
  
He removed the Drive Lock CD, and inserted his own, lightly pushing on the side of the platform, watching it hurry back into the laptop. Then, it thought, and he took that moment to return his CD case to his pack and take a few bites of his sandwich, along with a few gulps of his Grande Mocha before it promptly loaded, a new window appearing on the screen. The window was one narrow line of text, and a simple "OK" button sat at its right. Quickly, the man slid the cursor to the "OK" and pressed lightly, windows popping up in the background seamlessly loading files into the computer as he worked.  
  
There was a moment of subtleness. The man ate his sandwich, the waitress gazed at him, and the computer loaded…slowly. The sounds of cars zooming past on the street easily visible from the glass wall of the coffee house were commonplace in Manhattan. Everywhere anyone went, there was noise. Whether it was oddly peaceful in the center of a flourishing, colorful park – trees placed randomly through the expanse of grass – or in the very center of a junkyard, cars falling around you as workers yelled wild obscenities to enhance the 'brute work' feel. However one looked at it…there was noise everywhere.  
  
"Software Loaded," a mall window appeared, clarifying the success of his action. He looked at it, pleased, and set down his sandwich, moving his chair closer to the table as he put his hands to the keyboard. He clicked that window off the screen, and another appeared, "Open Program 'Go Code'?". There was a small gray button beneath the message, and as he moved the cursor to it the waiter's beautiful, sexy voice returned, echoing in his ear, and turning him away from the computer in an instant.  
  
"Is everything good?" She asked, an uneasy but returning seductive gaze in her eyes. The man pondered his answer, and while it was an obvious 'Yes' he didn't think that would get him any closer to this magnificent woman. 'What to say…' he pondered, 'what to say…'  
  
"You are gorgeous," he blurted, coolly. She smiled at his reply, twiddling her pen in her fingers, and shifting her wait to her left leg, and slipping her thumb into the top of her jeans, sliding them down an inch to reveal more of her skin and those bright green underwear.  
  
"I kinda meant your order," she returned.  
  
"That doesn't change my answer," he said. "You wanna," he began, looking around the room again to reassure himself of the numbers, "go into the bathroom?" She looked around too, analyzing the slim population of the coffee house, and then looked back, nodding… 'Damn!' he thought. 'Even her nod was sexy!' The man smiled and then lifted his index finger once more, signaling a need for just another moment to himself. "Let me take care of this real quick, and then we can have a little fun," he said, and she smiled, quickly turning to the service counter, and strutted back, her step still bouncy. She was willing to give him his minute, but when they were in the bathroom, he was all hers.  
  
Returning to his laptop, he analyzed the notice. "Open Program 'Go Code'?" it said. 'Hmm…' he pondered momentarily, slowly moving the cursor toward the "OK" button beneath the message. Click!  
  
Suddenly, a chat room window popped up on the screen, and the man watched as another user signed in, going by the screen name: XcolonelX. The man smiled, slightly, and began to type to the other user.  
  
"Is everyone in place?" he typed, and waited for the other user to reply.  
  
"Yes sir. Police have been notified of the 'biological scare'…when our men move, all of Manhattan will be quarantined." The user returned.  
  
"Good. Are the choppers on their way?"  
  
"Yea, but…sir, what is this for?" There was a silence as the man at the laptop contemplated his answer.  
  
"Colonel, you are in charge of military affairs. You do your part, I'll do mine."  
  
"That's not good enough, sir."  
  
"Of course it is."  
  
"You order the Go Code without telling me, and this mission goes nowhere."  
  
Silence. "We know where the Patriot is hiding. We're going to lock him inside, too."  
  
"And you don't think he has a counter-offensive ready for you?"  
  
"That's exactly it, Colonel. Once he acts, we'll follow. And then we'll find exactly what we want," the man typed. "Colonel, I am sending the Go Code now. Keep me updated." He turned to the woman at the service counter and smiled. "I have some business of my own."  
  
"Yes sir. Thank you."  
  
"No, no…thank you." The man scrolled over to the bottom of the chat window and found a small button entitled 'Go Code'. His cursor sat there for a moment, and the other user signed off. "Be ready for a bam, Manhattan…" he whispered, and lightly pushed upon the touch-pad.  
  
"'Go Code' initiated."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This chapter is an…epilogue. Or you could say…prologue. Look out, because a sequel is coming your way. (Sorry Otaku, I couldn't hold myself back () Please R&R. I know you don't know much, but tell me if you like what you do know. Thanks. 


	2. The Situation

Chapter Two: The Situation  
  
  
  
"Snake? Can you hear me?" Otacon's voice echoed in Snake's ear. He winced, the sound awakening him from a shallow sleep. "Snake?"  
  
"Yea, Otacon," he said drowsily, rubbing his head, "I hear you."  
  
"Good," Otacon returned. "What's your status?"  
  
"I'm coming up on Manhattan," he said, standing, his hand bent over his brow, shielding the light that shrouded his view. Turning, he could see the horde of cars at the rear of the ship. A ferry.  
  
"Just to make sure we don't hit any bumps in security, Jack is on a ferry from Liberty Harbor, and should dock on Manhattan island only minutes after you. Don't feel obligated to wait for him, though."  
  
"Heh…so what's the situation?" Snake asked, stepping to the back of the ferry and leaning against the railing, watching the water ripple and churn in their pass.  
  
"As you know, this mission isn't a typical one for either of us. This one will be in daylight, and in a crowd of hundreds. Manhattan is a pretty popular place."  
  
"Yea…I'll have to do some sight-seeing before I leave."  
  
"Remember, Snake, this is strictly work. Save play for later."  
  
"In my house, we always did it the other way around."  
  
"Snake," Otacon sighed, "let's just go over everything. You're familiar with the statement Revolver Ocelot made at Hell's Outpost, regarding the location of the Compilation, and since we don't run routine missions to Manhattan, you should be able to tell this one is a special assignment. Surprisingly, it is in no way connected with Philanthropy, and was assigned to us through UFAC, the Universal Freedom Activists Council."  
  
"Don't remember them…" Snake searched for a memory, but nothing came.  
  
"Don't worry, they're completely independent of the Patriot, or more specifically, Ocelot. In fact, their main objectives are to counter the acts of the Patriots through non-violent means. Most of the men or women on the council are from third-world countries like India and Brazil, but there is a number of representatives from the larger nations such as Germany and England."  
  
"You sure of no links?"  
  
"Positive," Otacon assured him. "Now, in more detail, you need to make your way into a seven-story warehouse just south-west of One New York Plaza. The Compilation, if Ocelot's story was true, should be in the very center of the main level. You'll be assisted by a backup team of UFAC agents, but unless something goes wrong, you might never notice they're there."  
  
"One New York Plaza…the building south-west of it," he paused, "isn't it getting knocked down on the Fourth?"  
  
"July Fourth," Otacon reassured him, "it goes down. That's today."  
  
"That explains the urgency of the situation then?"  
  
"Exactly," Otacon nodded, but it was invisible to Snake. "Wow. You don't even remember July Fourth?" Snake turned, supporting himself against the railing with his hands as they arched behind him. Taking in a gulp of sea- smelling air, he exhaled and grunted.  
  
"Hmph…that's one year on the dot," he remarked. "The Arsenal incident seems so long ago… so does Hell's Outpost."  
  
"Well, they're far from irrelevant. Both missions continue to influence our future movements with Philanthropy," Otacon replied.  
  
"Hmm…looks like Battery Park is ready for tonight. They're setting up Six Flags in the back yard of Manhattan." He frowned.  
  
"Yea. That's been their habit for quite a while. July Fourth isn't a celebration of independence; it's all commercial and media. Just another moneymaker."  
  
"That's America for you. The world of entertainment," Snake sighed, his eyes wandering to the two steel structures that stood above the rest in the distance. Up to the eighteenth floor, there were walls, but from then on, it was a jumble of glinting gray; turned a warm orange in the morning's sunlight. Snake couldn't remember how long it had been since the attack…9- 11 as everyone had come to refer to it as. He didn't like the name…it made it no more significant than a telephone number. It seemed almost disrespectful to him, but leaving your mind in the past never helped anybody.  
  
"Well…that's just an act," Otacon sighed, his statement referring to the 'play' or 'show' of the Patriots, as Ocelot called it. The world, his stage, and the people, his actors. "But, we aren't the only ones who can tell. The power of the Patriot spans the entire world, now. Of course, if it didn't there could be a lot of conflicts with other countries…not as if there all ready aren't, but…oh well."  
  
"I wonder if Ocelot planned it," Snake found himself thinking out loud.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The World Trade Center…you know, 9-11. Don't tell me you never asked yourself that question?"  
  
"Well, whether he did or not, he's a terrible man. He couldn't be considered any worse with that on his shoulders. You and I both know he's capable." There was an awkward moment of silence then, and it lasted for quite some time. Snake stared blankly toward the skyline of Manhattan, and Otacon sat in a secured building somewhere in the Bronx, papers littering his space.  
  
"Snake?!" Otacon suddenly blurted. Snake had been drifting off again, but suddenly awoke from the light sleep that had overcome him in that moment.  
  
"What is it, Otacon?"  
  
"I just spoke to Jack! They're turning his boat around! Some sort of biological threat was made in Manhattan!" His voice was no louder than usual, but had suddenly become much more urgent. As he spoke, Snake turned from his gaze, a familiar symphony of propellers working behind him. Turning, he fell back in surprise as two choppers roared overhead, his neck twisting around to follow them toward Manhattan.  
  
"Iriqouis?" He questioned. "UH-1N? Twin engine, carries 10 passengers…that's an Augusta; Italian. Otacon?"  
  
"What would an Iriqouis be doing there?" He thought. "Maybe it has something to do with the bio threat?"  
  
"Doubt it," Snake shook his head, mesmerized. "The Iriqouis' a transport vehicle. The threat could be related, but I don't see how," Snake trailed off, the wind still gathering around him from the choppers' pass. Then, he felt a lurch, and fell forward onto the floor of the ferry as the entire boat began to shift. "Damn! They're turning it around!"  
  
"Snake," Otacon started, "if it's a biological threat, we should leave it up to the National Guard. Of course…we'd miss our shot at the Compilation."  
  
Snake pushed onto his feet, massaged his chin, and looked to his left. To the west, there was a faint outline of two choppers moving steadily over the water, accelerating lightly as they neared the city. Then, he could hear racket from the east, and witnessed a chopper hovering over the Brooklyn Bridge, men sliding to the streets below from a long strand of rope. There was chaos, and it seemed that in those very seconds it had erupted out of nowhere, the streets becoming unsafe and the skies becoming filled with helicopters. Snake looked to the head of the ship, noticing a crowd of civilians gathering at its edge as the ferry turned, and then he looked back at Manhattan, pandemonium ensuing.  
  
"Otacon," he said briefly, "I'm getting off this boat." 


	3. To the City of Manhattan

Chapter Three: To the City of Manhattan  
  
  
  
The choppers (there were five teams of two) faded into the distance, blending into the walls of the buildings that glimmered before him. Snake watched, as they were lost in the maze of skyscrapers, weaving in and out of the streets, and occasionally peeking above the roofs to catch another glimpse of the city as it quickly fell under them.  
  
One team of choppers made a quick pass of the city and then began to unload its men on two of the World Trade Center buildings. "4 and 7," Snake noted, looking down the long streets to get a good picture of their landings. The rest, he couldn't follow, and decided it better not to, for his first task was reaching the harbor, and as he watched the invasion of Manhattan, the ferry he stood upon continued to grind the water beneath them, turning slowly to the left and attempting to turn back from the city.  
  
Snake pulled his gaze from the great, shining city, and observed the other citizens aboard the ferry. Many of them were old, their eyes wondering in an awe-struck fashion, unable to fathom the events that were laid out before them. Then, amongst them were three men, their features clean and sharp. Their arms were wide, and their necks were thick like trunks of trees. They all wore sun glasses, hiding their eyes, and as Snake surveyed them, he could see one turn to him, and then his mouth began to move, catching the attention of the two others that stood by him. "Otacon!" Snake cried as the three men nodded to one another and moved to the captain's room.  
  
"Yea, Snake?" Otacon answered after a short delay.  
  
"I've got three targets. They're moving to the control bridge. I think they want to keep it on course," Snake suggested.  
  
"They must be with whoever is planning the invasion?"  
  
"Look's that way," Snake commented, waiting a few moments to feel the ferry shift back, but then he returned to the conversation. "Give me Jack's frequency," Snake requested. "I need to talk with him."  
  
"Since the update with Philanthropy's security, some frequencies were scrambled or changed in the nanomachines re-development studies. You can contact him at '121.01'"  
  
"Is he expecting me?" Snake asked, his eyes peering through the windows of the control bridge sitting toward the head of the ferry. He could see movement, but nothing irregular.  
  
"I didn't want your lines tied in case of security faults," Otacon explained, "but I see the urgency. Just give him a call. I'll be here whenever you need me."  
  
"Okay," Snake nodded.  
  
"Oh, and Snake?"  
  
"Yea Otacon?"  
  
"Don't move on anything before consulting me. I need to know everything that happens. I'll try to gather information from news regarding Manhattan. Keep in touch," Otacon waited for Snake to approve, and then the transmission ended.  
  
Quickly, Snake scrolled through the frequencies, and upon reaching 121.01, he setup the transmission, awaiting a familiar reply. "Snake?!" was Jack's immediate cry.  
  
"Yea, Jack, it's me," Snake replied, his tone mildly disrupt with urgency.  
  
"They're turning us around," Jack returned, hastily.  
  
"Yea," Snake answered, his eyes falling over distant ships, ferries, tankers – all that had begun to turn away from Manhattan – shift back, their bows pointing to the glinting city ahead. "I can see them turning back to Manhattan. I spotted three guys, all wearing shades. They're on the inside," Snake finished before he heard the shatter of glass from the bow of the ferry, and a quick twist of the air by his ear as he dropped onto the floor of the ferry, another loud shot ringing out, and striking the car he quickly found cover behind. A Honda Civic. "Damn! One of 'em just fired on me!" Snake could hear the cries of the civilians onboard, but waited quietly for some notion of what they were planning.  
  
Then, he felt the ferry shift beneath him, its hull changing courses, and the bow becoming parallel with that of the others ships that had turned back to the city. He held his head low, scavenging through his black jacket for his gun. He pulled it forth – a SOCOM – and looked it over as he spoke to Jack. "They're putting us back on course. Hmph…whoever they are, they must be looking for as many hostages as they can get their hands on."  
  
"Snake? You gonna be okay?" Jack asked, his voice fading into the wind that blew over him, bright clouds passing in the distance.  
  
"Yea," he replied, gripping his SOCOM in both hands before kneeling and setting his back against the Honda Civic. "Keep on the lookout for any suspicious targets. I'll need your help on the island, but you'd be better off having control of the ship yourself."  
  
"Gotcha!"  
  
There were two more shots fired, and with each one there was a loud repercussion of screaming from the old men and women, their hearts beating through their chests. Snake cringed each time, too, the bullets ricocheting off the floor of the ferry, and punching through the windows of the Civic. He quickly rolled behind a tire to be secure, and checked his SOCOM once more, verifying that a full magazine was inserted. "Here goes," he said aloud, and quickly jumped to his feet, extending his legs to the floor as he moved into the air.  
  
As he catapulted up, his body did a swift turn, and when his feet landed firmly upon the floor again, he found himself eye to eye with one of the suspicious targets. They looked at each other, their hearts burning with desire, and their hands weak with fury, and only when Snake realized the presence of another – at the others' side– he fired and stepped off to the right, his feet leaving the ground again, and his body falling back, disappearing again, behind the car…his shield.  
  
There was a cry, one too deep to belong to another civilian, and his head crashed into the floor, bouncing back in pain. 'Got one!' he exclaimed to himself, pushing the soreness in his neck away. Moving back onto his feet, his body still low behind the Civic, he peered through the broken windows, peeking his head out of safety. There was another shot, and he ducked quickly. Before he went down, he could see one of them positioned on the roof of the control bridge, his gun exposed and his eye looking through a long scope. Sniper.  
  
This took no sniper. The two were merely meters apart, and something as simple as a handgun could still take Snake's head off if the bullet were aim was sharp. But, the sniper rifle made Snake a little uneasy, and somewhat nervous.  
  
"So," Snake told himself, "I got one. Another is on the roof, and the last…hmm…he's keeping the seniors under control. Heh. That narrows things down…just a way to take out the sniper…" The warm sun shone bright in the sky to his back, and everything shined with a unique purity. There was something about the sunlight that brought everything down to earth, but at the same time lifted everything into a new realm. It was so mystifying, so foreign…but in the same instance; so common, so constant. Still, it made the difference. When the sun shone bright, there was peace, but when it hid behind the earth, shielding itself from the heavy gazes of star searchers and everyday people, darkness and misfortune seemed to sprout.  
  
And in this moment, the sun was there and not there all at once. It had fallen away in the eyes of the enemy, and was no longer a threat to their procession, but in the eyes of the victims, its light was still present, and the mixture of chaos and daylight was sickening. Confusing. Like betrayal.  
  
'Just go!' Snake cried in his mind, and he darted from behind the Civic, his head low. Shots outlined his trail in the deck, and in a moment – a quick moment – he was off the boat. Bullets flew by even as he was in the air, his body overtaken with a sense of freedom and unnatural safety. Those seconds were seconds of bliss, their meaning so great and their length so short. Like a first kiss…so overwhelming, but too short to satisfy.  
  
His body still in flight, he shifted his gaze from the deep water to the shining city off to his left. It was like the sun itself, too bright to watch, but full of something one was too curious to turn from. The buildings mixed, the cars faded, and the people were bound together, and in that image – his final image before crashing into the water – he saw a great light shining all alone, independent of the sun. It was Manhattan…the center of it all. It was crying…crying for an audience.  
  
And whatever the enemies were…whether they were German, American, Russian, or English…they were going to bring that audience to it…right to the city of Manhattan. 


	4. Dance

Chapter Four: Dance  
  
  
  
'Crash!' The water didn't flow around him like jelly, but instead stayed as firm as a brick, shattering Snake's body as he broke through the surface, like a layer of ice separating winter from an underwater kingdom. He moved this way and that, trying to stabilize himself and begin swimming, but a wave of bullets, each coming only seconds apart, washed around him, his arms working fervently to move him away, but he realized that moving with the boat would do him no good, for as soon as he popped up, he'd be dead. 'Down,' he thought, and quickly situated himself, forcing the water around his body as he swam deeper.  
  
The gunfire didn't stop, at least for a minute or two, and as time went by, they became less and less accurate, their paths steeper than before – indicating they were moving further away. Snake was relieved when it all stopped, and he opened his eyes trying to pick out the underbelly of the ferry from the rest of the blurry images he saw, but there was none. They were gone.  
  
He beat his legs like mad, churning the water between them as fast as possible. A path of winding water was left behind him, and by the time he could see the sun shining on the surface of the water his eyes stung too badly to keep them open, his arms were too sore, and his legs were too battered. But he kept swimming. Snake didn't quit. Ever.  
  
"Pwah!" he gasped, his body bobbing up and down with the help of his lightly paddling legs. His arms waved back and forth in the water, sending a ripple across the lake as he did. He threw his hands over his face, wiped it, and then stuck them back in the water, wading his arms in it. He gasped, trying hard to catch his breath, and shot a gaze up to the coast. Nearly a mile away was the harbor, boats quickly filing into the terminals as passengers were unloaded and taken to more secure locations, arranged by their captors.  
  
"Snake?" Jack breathed, his voice breaking into Snake's short moment of silence.  
  
"Hey, Jack," Snake replied.  
  
"I spotted a couple guys, but they have control of the ship. They are keeping us in our seats, and pacing back and forth. Just…if I don't answer, it's because they're near. Got it?"  
  
"Yea," Snake nodded and then began to move toward the harbor, gliding through the water elegantly. "I got off the ferry."  
  
"You're all ready on Manhattan Island?" Jack questioned.  
  
"No. Water." Then, there was silence. It lasted a few minutes, and Snake took that time to strip down to his infiltration gear. Flinging off his black jacket and his undershirt, he exposed the top of his dark blue body suit, straps running from his shoulders to his waist, holsters and other compartments running down it. After shedding his khakis, the lower part of his suit was visible, but besides a knife strapped to his thigh with a nylon band, there were no surprises.  
  
"Snake?" Jack's voice returned, this time more hurriedly than before. "Sorry about that."  
  
"They were around," Snake insisted. "It's all right."  
  
"So your in the bay? How's the water?"  
  
"Warm," Snake snickered.  
  
"So, what's the plan?" Jack asked, his tone normal again.  
  
"I just changed into my infiltration gear. I'm going to swim to the harbor. Describe your boat," Snake requested, and there was a moment's hesitation as Jack tried to examine what he could from his sitting position…everything that would be helpful was worth the risk.  
  
"It's a tour boat. Seats about thirty. Fast. No rooms. Red side." Jack peered over the edge of the ship, being on the edge of a row, and analyzed the licks of yellow paint that splashed the ship's side, creating interesting designs that glistened with the reflection of the sun off the water. "Some yellow indications on the side. That's about it, though."  
  
Snake took a moment to run the description over in his head, and nodded to himself. "Good. I'll be watching for you."  
  
"Okay, Snake."  
  
"Jack?"  
  
There was silence. The enemies were near.  
  
"I know you're hearing this. Just, be ready for anything," Snake said, and then ended the transmission and turned in the water to face Manhattan, it's brilliant shine leaving a mark in his mind. "Swim fast," he said aloud, and dropped his face into the water, thrusting forward with his arms his arms, and churning the water furiously with his legs.  
  
Snake's body was tough enough. His arms ached and his legs burned, but he didn't stop. 'Only a half-a-mile away,' he told himself. 'Only a fourth…almost there.' He swam until he had reached the Slow Zone around the harbor, where a few boats still lingered, waiting to find a home in the filled slots of Manhattan's harbor. He kept on the outskirts of the Slow Zone to avoid being seen, and swam west along the barrier to an area that had not yet been polluted by the presence of the enemy.  
  
It was between Battery Park and the harbor, and there was a small rusted ladder that stretched to the top of the concrete coast. He swam to it as quietly as possible and climbed it quickly, trying to avoid being under a pair of crosshairs too long. 'Quick' he told himself, bolting onto the concrete walkway above, and bounding behind the hedges that grew against a concrete wall across the path.  
  
Captives and captors were up and down the path, as Snake came to realize, and the most peculiar part was that as soon as the captives were let off of the boats, they were free to go anywhere they liked.  
  
"Otacon?" Snake accessed his Codec, and waited for Otacon to return an answer.  
  
"Snake? Still on the ferry?" he questioned. Snake shook his head.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't get in touch with you. I'm off the ferry. Swam to the coast," he answered, and could sense Otacon's disapproval, but he wasn't lectured. Otacon left it aside, and continued, seeing as survival was more important than in-depth understanding. Lectures wouldn't save him on the battlefield.  
  
"Well, what are things looking like?" Otacon asked, pulling forth a slab of paper to record Snake's observations.  
  
"Besides the choppers, and how full the harbor is," Snake looked through the gaps in the hedges as he spoke, "everything seems pretty normal."  
  
"Normal?"  
  
"Yea. Everyone that was held aboard the incoming ferries and boats…as soon as they step foot on Manhattan, the suspects let them go on their way."  
  
"Hmm…all of Manhattan must be locked in, then. Like a giant quarantine situation, only the enemy is an army of soldiers, not a virus. They shouldn't care WHERE they are as long as they're on the island."  
  
"Well, did you find any information on the enemy?" Snake asked. Otacon thumbed through the newspaper and sighed, it's title: The Manhattan Resident.  
  
"Well, all I have managed to get my hands on has been The Manhattan Resident, but it doesn't say anything in particular. It was printed and released long before the siege took place. But, it does have some information regarding the warehouse southwest of One New York Plaza. It has a section set aside for the July 4th festivities and such, also."  
  
"That doesn't help," Snake mumbled.  
  
"Actually, I scanned through it, and found a small article on the last page of the front page section. It talks about a military stockpile somewhere in the Middle East. It seems, a number of helicopters and other military equipment were nabbed about three weeks ago, and the UN thought they had found a trail leading to Haiti. Haiti government officials denied the UN's request to search the island, but it says here that just last night they found traces of what the UN was after in an abandoned warehouse on the northern coast. Looks like we might have found our connection."  
  
Snake's eye caught a shimmering red torpedo-like object in the distance, skimming across the water as it entered the harbor. "Good work, Otacon." He watched the red boat for a few more moments before noticing his blonde- haired partner sitting on the end of a row, his eyes searching the path for Snake. "I've found Jack."  
  
  
  
The shadow suffocated the light and warmth out of the coffee house, its tables vacant, and its walls pale and empty. There were no frightened men, women, or children running up and down the street, but the traffic continued as if it were any other day. The choppers that had entered the city had landed in other areas of the city, and even when they did, people couldn't always run. Everyone must realize that even when a gun is pointed to your head, as long as no one will pull the trigger, there's no reason to fret. It didn't seem as if the enemy had any intentions of killing the people, for the prime objective was to find the Patriot. There was nothing spoken regarding a massacre or a nuclear weapon. They were showing everything hey had, and they'd not killed anyone yet. There was no reason to fear them at all, as long as that was true.  
  
From the restroom skulked The Customer. He subtly shut the door behind him, making sure that no one heard it, and then walked steadily out of the resting hall and back into the coffee house where he found his laptop as it had been before. Nothing had changed, but he had turned the brightness of the monitor on as low as possible, in order to disguise everything in case an employee were to stumble over it.  
  
"Hmm," he muttered, peering through the glass wall that faced the city streets. "Nothing," he said in disappointment and pulled out his chair, took a seat, and turned the brightness back to its normal state. Cracking his knuckles, one hand at a time, he set his fingers to the keyboard and began to run through everything in silence.  
  
The first window in sight was the Chat Window, but nothing had been altered there. Seeing it useless for the moment, he deleted it and moved onto the next window in the jumble of colors. He closed it also, and did the same with almost everyone before reaching the final window. His eyes scanned over the title bar, and his mouth acted out his emotions. He smiled.  
  
"Good," he said slyly, his eyes following red dots over a map of Manhattan Island. They were the choppers, the boats, the people…his minions. All working under him. All working for something that only he truly understood. He had control. He had power. Immense power.  
  
Suddenly, a voice sounded in his ear. "Sir?" the voice questioned. The Customer touched his ear lightly, and looked to the service counter, seeing two women behind it, conversing amongst themselves. Figuring it was safe to answer, he turned away from them, tilting his laptop as he did to himself.  
  
"Yes?" The Customer asked.  
  
"Everything is moving smoothly, sir." He was confident, but there was a weak but apparent nervousness in his tone that The Customer could sense. Sighing, he took the role of the interrogator.  
  
"What's happened?" he asked.  
  
"Well…we've suffered a casualty. Apparently, there was a radical aboard one of the ferries that docked at the harbor. While they were en route, he started a firefight with three of our men. One was killed, but the radical managed to get off the boat before anyone got a clear shot," the Colonel answered, apologetically.  
  
"Do we know who this 'radical' is?"  
  
"He did a quick background on him. The name is David…works for Philanthropy by the name of Solid Snake. We traced his recent Codec transmissions and found two men. One is 'Jack,' a captive on another boat, and the other is an 'Otacon,' currently stationed somewhere in the Bronx."  
  
"Solid Snake…?" The Customer questioned. "Didn't he die a few years back?"  
  
"That's what I thought, but there's no doubt. It's him."  
  
The Customer pondered this revelation, his chin rested on his clenched fist. "Continue the operation. Contact the 2nd Officers. I want them involved."  
  
"Not the 1st, sir?"  
  
"Not the 1st, Colonel," The Customer assured him.  
  
"As you wish, sir," the Colonel returned, hurriedly before the transmission ended. The Customer turned back to the table and slid his laptop to its normal position, resting his hands on the keys and searching the Manhattan map, his eyes frenzied.  
  
Double-clicking on the harbor, a message box appeared, a large white space available for him to type. He did.  
  
'All operatives, be on guard. A "Solid Snake" is in the area.'  
  
He waited, his finger an inch above the 'Enter' key. About to push it, he pulled away, deleted the message, and closed the window. "On the other hand," he paused, contemplating his statement to no audience, "maybe it will be more fun to see what happens…go on, my children…  
  
…Dance." 


	5. El Arteigo

Chapter Five: El Arteigo  
  
  
  
"Move along!" one of the suspects yelled, his arms waving as he stood at the head of the speedboat. Jack looked up, watching him closely. "Come on! Give us room!" the man cried. Boats had flooded the Manhattan Harbor, and there was hardly any land free for docking. It was chaos in the water, and seeing the number of boats made Jack's stomach lurch. 'At least one operative for every boat'…scanning the water, he saw over one hundred. 'More than one hundred troops on-site? This is crazy.'  
  
"Damn," the suspect muttered, too quiet for Jack to hear near the back of the boat. "Parallel parking…" the man grunted, and Jack's eyes fell over an empty gap between two yachts. A thin smile spread across Jack's face as he took notice to their predicament, and he watched as the suspects aboard his boat passed back and forth, the third trying to steer them into the space he'd discovered.  
  
Jack looked down in his lap as the suspects made another pass down the aisle, their penetrating glares looking into his soul, it seemed. 'I wonder if they know,' he thought, 'that I am who I am.' Suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, the boat jerked, and he looked up, as did everyone else. Skidding alongside the two yachts, the boat shifted the water, churning it and pushing the other boats out of its way as it moved into the space, slowing and then coming to a complete halt.  
  
The man at the bow of the boat turned back to them and nodded to the two others that looked to him for approval. "All right," the man began, "let's unload 'em!" Slowly, the two other suspects moved to the front of the boat, and began dismissing the passengers, row by row. They hurried by, afraid for their lives, and hurdled the gap between the bow and the actual harbor. Jack watched as they reached the land and started along the path, up and around the concrete wall, and deeper into Manhattan. What surprised him the most was their freedom. The suspects pursued none of them. "Come on!" one of them cried in his ear, and he blinked, realizing he was the only passenger left on the boat.  
  
Looking up, Jack saw the man towering over him, sun glasses set on the arch of his nose, and a long black coat grabbing at his shoulders. The man seemed exhausted…sweat dripping onto the floor of the boat, as the sun appeared to burn inches from his face. Jack stood, waited for the man to step aside, and then turned into the main aisle and slowly made his way to the bow, his arms swaying and his legs stepping with a rhythmic perfection.  
  
"Stop," a man stepped in front of him. Jack stopped, bumping into the man's chest only lightly before taking a step back to look over him. "Hmm," the man grumbled, his eyes looking over Jack who did the same to him. "What's the best place to eat around here? I've heard of an 'El Artaigo,' but I'm not all for Italian." Jack shook his head.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "I don't live here." The man looked back at him, quizzically.  
  
"Didn't pack any bags?" he asked. Jack swallowed hard, seeing the confusion and curiosity lingering heavily in the suspect's eyes.  
  
"I'm…a reporter," he said. "I had heard of a biological scare. Seemed like the story of a lifetime to me." The man still looked at him, his neck bent and his head cocked to the side. Then, a smile broke.  
  
"Heh! Well, sorry you had to show up on a day like this." He looked past Jack, trying to find Ellis Island. "You just keep doin' your job, and you'll be fine. 'Kay?" Jack nodded, uncomfortably, and the man stepped aside. "Enjoy your stay," he joked, and Jack stepped over the gap between the harbor and the boat, taking a few steps up the concrete path before hearing something rustling in the hedges to his right.  
  
He stopped and turned as Snake emerged from the greens, brushing leaves from his suit. "Snake?" Jack questioned and he nodded in return. "It's good to see you," Jack complimented, stepping closer to him and setting a hand on his shoulder. Snake smiled, lightly.  
  
"Yea," he said, his eyes moving to the ships docked only feet away. "Have you noticed? They're letting everyone go."  
  
"Yea," Jack nodded, "they must have all the possible exits closed up. Otherwise, they would be a little more cautious with their hostages."  
  
"They've got a thousand others, anyway. Losing a boatload in a crowd would make anything but a significant mark in the death toll." Then, there was a ring. Both of them heard it, and answered the call, quickly, putting their hands to their ears.  
  
"Snake? Jack?" Otacon's voice called. Snake and Jack looked to each other and nodded before answering. "Yea, Otacon," Snake answered. "We hear you."  
  
"How're things on the island?" he asked.  
  
"Just peachy," Jack answered. Snake looked at him, sighed, and then returned to the conversation without Jack noticing his disapproval.  
  
"So you're both on solid ground?" he asked.  
  
"Yea," Snake replied. "Dig up anything new?"  
  
"Not really," Otacon shook his head. "But, you have made the news. The tube is swamped with unplanned programs."  
  
"Hmph…interrupting the soaps, eh?" Jack joked. "Better than Frasier reruns…"  
  
"Well, they're talking of a Special Report edition of The Manhattan Resident. They're expecting it to be sent out within the next half hour. Apparently, they're printing them off right now."  
  
"Funny," Snake interrupted. "The local paper is readier than the National Guard." Otacon laughed.  
  
"Now, Snake, I haven't received any other information regarding the actual offensive, but I contacted representatives of the UFAC."  
  
"And…?" Jack questioned.  
  
"In light of the invasion, the UFAC has stressed for you to meet with one of their agents on location. I explained that we might take a new direction, but they aren't very pleased with the idea. Today is the last day they have to act. Once the warehouse is down, the Compilation will be gone for good."  
  
"So, they're more concerned about the Compilation than the safety of thousands of American civilians?" Snake groaned.  
  
"They aren't responsible for the invasion, Snake, and they are certainly not responsible for taking care of it. They're goal is to eliminate the Patriot government, not to protect the United States." Otacon claimed.  
  
"Right…so where are we supposed to meet with them?" Snake asked. There was a rustle of papers from Otacon's end of the transmission, and then, after a moment's hesitation, he returned.  
  
"El Arteigo. It's an Italian restaurant on the corner of Beach and Collister. You'll most likely need to hitch a ride, unless you want to walk about thirty blocks." Jack grinned when he heard the name of the restaurant, remembering the suspect's question before he'd stepped off the boat.  
  
"We'll find a ride," Jack assured him, and Snake sighed.  
  
"Anything else, Otacon?" he asked.  
  
"Not really…just…keep safe." Otacon ended.  
  
"We will," Snake replied, and the transmission was cut.  
  
  
  
  
  
Music…old music was playing. Like from the Baroque period. High ceiling lights gave the room a faint glow, but the frightening atmosphere was effective only through the lights that shone from the floor, creating two- point shadows from ceiling to floor. There sat a man, his eyes closed, in a chair before a bulky object.  
  
There were footsteps echoing from the distance, nearing the man slowly. The absence of all other sound amplified those footsteps beyond imagination…their beat growing rapid and hurried as time went on. Slowly, from the shadows that existed only at the ends of the room, came a soldier. He wore camouflage of brown and gray, and in his hand was a fat slab of light-gray paper.  
  
"Sir?" he stopped before the man, and stretched out his arm. "They've released the first Special Report of The Manhattan Resident," the soldier called as the man in the chair pulled the paper close and spun in his seat, analyzing the first story on the page.  
  
"'Bio-Terror Downtown…'" a voice slipped from the lips of the man in the chair. He gripped the paper tight, and looked on. "'From a threat of biological chaos has spawned a full-armed assault on Manhattan,'" the voice recited. "'Around 3:30 this morning, City Hall received a tip on a possible biological diffusion throughout the city. At nearly 10:00, helicopters were spotted with radar, scanning the coast, and at 10:30 those helicopters invaded Downtown Manhattan. With the help of a City-wide Lockdown, issued a mere 15 minutes earlier, the seizing of strategic locations throughout Manhattan has taken the police out of control, and has put our invaders in control. Now, at 11:13 on July Fourth, the world stands still again, petrified by the unexpected arrival of a new enemy.'" The man stopped, his voice so familiar. "'God help us all…'" he concluded, folding the paper neatly and setting it on the tabletop before him, which was base to a computer.  
  
"So what do we do?" The soldier asked. The man pondered.  
  
"We wait," he replied, and the soldier nodded, saluted him, and then smiled.  
  
"As you wish…  
  
  
  
…Shalashaska." 


	6. He Heard A Body Fall

Chapter Six: He Heard A Body Fall  
  
  
  
"Taxi!" Snake cried, his thumb held high, and his face worn and exasperated. "Taxi!" he saw one coming in the distance, and chased it from the side of the road as it passed, Jack watching in amusement. "Dammit!" Snake threw his arms to his sides, ad turned back to Jack, pacing back and forth with his hand on his chin and his other at his side.  
  
"Woa there, cowboy," Jack exclaimed, his hand on his hip. Snake stopped, looked up at him, and scowled, turning away again to scan the streets where so many cars passed in a furious flash. As Snake pulled forth his SOCOM, Jack stepped forward, nervous of what he planned to do with it. "America is much braver now than it was when they filmed Speed, Snake. You point that at one of them, and they might just pull out their own firearm. You wouldn't shoot, but they would." Snake turned around and faced Jack, his brain swelling with frustration.  
  
"Taxi!" he yelled again, turning to the streets and slipping his SOCOM back into his suit. Minutes passed. Still no ride. "Dammit," he sighed, his eyes focusing on the pavement as he walked over to Jack. "You give it a try," he suggested, and Jack nodded, stepping out to the edge of the street.  
  
"Taxi!" he yelled, and in less than a minute, there was one sitting before him. He turned, glanced at Snake, and then pulled open the door for him. "After you," he proclaimed, jokingly, and Snake walked over, taking a seat in the back of the Taxi, followed by Jack.  
  
"Woa! I don't escort terr'ists!" the driver exclaimed, seeing Snake in the mirror that was mounted in the center of his windshield. Snake sighed, realizing why no one had stopped for him, but for Jack who had not stripped down to his infiltration gear. "I mean it! Get out!"  
  
"See what I was saying?" Jack questioned, waiting for Snake to glare at him with the usual needle-sharp gaze that penetrated his heart, and sought through the core of his soul. There was no answer. Neither verbal nor oral.  
  
"El Arteigo," Snake answered no one.  
  
"Eh?! I said get out!" the driver cried, his voice accenting the overweight body that hung over the edges of his seat. Snake shook his hand.  
  
"Yes, and I said El Arteigo. You forgot to ask us 'where to?'," Snake stated, firmly.  
  
"No! I didn't foget nothin'! Now get your sorry asses outta my car!" There was a click emanating from Snake's belt, and Jack's eye met what he held in his hand, only when it was propped lightly against the back of the driver's seat. His SOCOM forced a lump in the seat, and the driver stopped cold like dead as soon as he felt it graze his back.  
  
"I think you did." Snake quickly convinced him, pushing the SOCOM further into the back of the seat, and causing the driver to cringe. "El Atreigo." Snake said again, and the driver nodded hastily, sat forward in his seat, and started up the car. Pulling away from the curb, Snake's eye caught a figure exiting One New York Plaza. It wore a suit from what he could tell, a top hat, and in his hand was a briefcase. It walked menacingly down a nearby alley as the car sped off, and Snake tuned back to face the head of the car as the figure was swallowed in the shadows.  
  
"So…uh…where ya…where ya from?" the driver asked, trying to be normal, but failing in his attempts. Stopping the car rather suddenly, Snake and Jack slipped forward in their seats, and the driver quickly apologized before turning right, in the direction of El Arteigo.  
  
"We're not here to talk," Snake answered, bluntly. "Just get us to the restaurant." The driver nodded nervously, and continued down the street. There were cars everywhere. They passed quickly from the opposing side of the street, but it seemed that their lane was moving rather slowly.  
  
The sun reflected off the licks of yellow paint in the absence of cars passing over them, and Snake turned away from their blinding light, shielding his eyes from the burning that consumed him. The traffic lights ahead shone brightly, still. 'Not very much of a lockdown,' he imagined, and waited, as they turned left at the next intersection. "How much further?" Snake asked, impatiently.  
  
"Five minutes," the driver answered, speeding up just a little. Snake smirked. "Give or take a few, depending on traffic," the man finished, and Snake nodded.  
  
"Scared?" Jack asked, but the driver remained as silent as ever. "Don't worry. We're –,"  
  
"Not going to hurt you," Snake ended Jack's sentence. "Unless you screw with us," he concluded. The driver swallowed loud, and Jack looked at Snake like he was a maniac. Snake nudged toward him, moving in to whisper him something. "We don't want him to know we're not working with the enemy," Snake said as quietly as his voice allowed. Looking into the mirror centered in the windshield he could tell that that driver had not overheard him. His eyes remained on the road, and a sense of fear still existed in their depths. "Someone hits him up for intel, and he's pinned us at El Arteigo." Jack nodded. "Remember, this is a public situation. Leave no traces."  
  
For the next couple of minutes, there was nothing but silence. The sun slipped in through the windows, swapping from Jack to Snake as the car turned left and right. Snake continued to survey the mirror mounted to the windshield, keeping a close eye on the driver who seemed to become increasingly tense as time went by. The silence. The silence was eating away at him. The rest was his mind. Playing games…making him think Snake was digging the SOCOM further into his back, while in actuality, he had returned it to his holster long ago.  
  
"H-here we are," he swallowed. "El Arteigo. Some fine Italian food, here. I'm usually too short on money --," he had continued, but Snake lifted his hand in a sign of thanks, and pulled a card from his pocket, tossing it on the seat beside the driver as he and Jack stepped out of the car.  
  
The driver looked down and smiled. '$10 Gift Card! Spend on ANY item at ZB- Toys!' Slipping it into his wallet, he started the car again. Snake peeked his head in the window and grinned. "They were passing them out on my ferry." He winked, and then turned away, queuing the Taxi's departure. A minute passed and the Taxi was gone, leaving Jack and Snake at the doors of El Arteigo.  
  
"Well," Jack said, examining the intentionally cream-stained walls of the restaurant before continuing. "After you." Snake snickered and then pulled open the door, stepping inside the air-conditioned room. As Jack came in, they felt a wave of cool air, and the dim, cozy atmosphere of the restaurant could be felt, seen, smelled, heard, and tasted through the warm aroma of Italian, and the tinted windows that added to the environment. The only lights hung from above every table, and before Snake or Jack had truly adjusted to the drastic change in temperature, there was a woman standing before them: three menus under her right arm.  
  
"Good morning," she smiled warily, her eyes being drawn to Snake's SOCOM that rested in a holster along his chest-straps. "Three?" she asked, and Snake looked around as if they were expecting more.  
  
"Yes," a voice called from the shadows behind them. Snake turned, quickly, as a man stepped out of them. He was smiling lightly, a scruffy beard growing on his chin, and a light jean jacket slung over his shoulder. In his free hand, he held a shotgun, and when Snake's eyes fell over it, he reached for his SOCOM. The man waved him off. "Our seats?" he asked the woman, and she nervously nodded, guiding them to their table: Snake's eyes still straying from the path and seeking a better view of the man that followed behind Jack and himself.  
  
"Here you are," the woman said, setting the menus around the table as they took their seats. The table was round, and the chairs rolled, much like the old image of Olive Garden, which had unfortunately suffered from financial mishaps, and had ended up selling the majority of it's buildings, later forfeiting the entire franchise, and leaving the Italian food industry to the amateur two-location chains. El Arteigo was not the successor of the late Olive Garden franchise, but was rapidly taking in money, and could very well begin its expansion in coming years. "Soup of the Day is Broccoli Chowder, and --," she tried, but the suspicious man that had joined them for breakfast held his hand up again: a gesture that seemed to ward her away in disgust.  
  
"Welcome to El Arteigo," the man said, sitting back in his chair, its back giving a few inches. Snake's mouth opened, but before he could continue, the man's hand was in the air again. "I'm the agent from the UFAC. And I suppose you are Solid and Jack?" The two nodded. "Good. We need to talk."  
  
"You see," he began, "this 'invasion' was not something we had planned for, and upon hearing your operator's decision to break away from the mission, my superiors entitled me with the responsibility of putting you back on track, and giving you a little more information to satisfy some of your thirst." Snake looked at Jack who looked back, and they both turned back to the man. "Since the discovery of the Compilation, which became evident nearly two years ago, the Universal Freedom Activists Council – or UFAC – was established to accommodate the obvious threat to our nation's 'rights.' The United States, which is my birthplace, has promised its people many things, and with the Patriot in power, each and every one of them becomes unwelcome. Canceled out…ignored.  
  
"The mission you took part in, nearly five months ago at Hell's Outpost, was one of our most important engagements to stop the Patriots. We had sent in a double agent to retrieve any and all information that he could, during the mission, but since its conclusion, we have not managed to speak with this agent. He has gone missing, or something along those lines," he seemed to shrug off the agent's disappearance without worry, but before he could continue, Snake had interrupted his flowing speech.  
  
"Who was that agent?" Snake asked, and the man chuckled.  
  
"I cannot tell you that. Security reasons, of course." He said, and Jack looked at Snake wearily. Then, in the window to the man's back, Snake saw something. A man. The man he had seen sneaking into the alley, earlier. He was sprawled against the window, a look of sheer insanity stretched across his face, and his black suit pulled tightly around his shoulders, adjusting to his awkward stance. At his foot was a briefcase, and as he pushed off of the glass, his smile wide, Snake's heart stopped. Formal.  
  
Images flashed in Snake's mind, bringing back the horrific moment. Bullets were flying, he was struggling on the floor to reach a gun, and Jack and Formal were holding an intense bout at the other end of the room. He saw Otacon shoot Farrel. He stood. He saw Formal run. He saw Jack raise his gun. He saw a bullet break lose. He saw Formal stumble… … …He heard a body fall. 


	7. Come and Gone

Chapter Seven: Come and Gone  
  
  
  
"Formal?" Snake muttered.  
  
The scene was endless. Snake's eyes tried strenuously to adjust to what he saw, trying to sort out the relevance and the truth…and while he remembered, so plainly, Formal's demise he saw him there…standing there, that crazed look on his face. He was alive.  
  
Pushing away from the glass window, Formal waved – his hand bending at its knuckles like a child's 'goodbye signal' – and began to step off into the street, his back turned to the frozen traffic. Snake stood, ready to raise his SOCOM, but he saw something. The scene. Something was wrong.  
  
When he first saw Formal, he was wearing a nice suit, sunglasses, and was carrying a briefcase. As he stepped into the street, lightly making the transition from the curb to the pavement, Snake saw his suit and he saw his glasses, but one thing was out of place. At the foot of the window sat a black briefcase, and in Formal's right hand was nothing. "Down!" Snake cried, and as he fell to the floor, as the stranger hoisted onto his feet and turned to see the commotion from the streets, there was an ear- shattering noise that broke through the glass of the restaurant and sent a wave of fire and debris over the interior.  
  
A warm blanket fell over them as they ducked under the table…all but one, who besides ducking…fell. Snake's eyes were wide open, his body huddled beneath the table beside Jack, and on the other side of the table he saw something drop. He saw it flatten against the carpeted floor, and he saw other debris piling over it. It was the stranger. The agent. Their new partner. Their dead partner.  
  
The moment was interrupted by the immediate cry of cars on the street, and a shrill yelp from the back of the restaurant. "Oh my God!" their waitress yelled, running to where the debris had fallen, and then peeking under their table to assure their safety. Her eyes went smoothly over Jack and Snake who were beginning to move out from under it all, but her hand went over her mouth when she saw the other man.  
  
Her face quickly transformed, becoming determined. She put her hand to her ear and began to speak. "Post Arteigo reporting! We have an agent down…Yes…It's Terran." Snake looked at her uneasily, and Jack found himself doing the very same thing. Expecting their surprise, the waitress looked up at them, winked, and then stood and moved to the back of the restaurant. Snake and Jack swapped gazes, and found their footing. They tried hard not to look at Terran.  
  
"She's with the UFAC?" Snake stated, quizzically. Jack looked at him and lifted his shoulders unknowingly. "Damn," Snake said, turning to the street and stepping through the shattered windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Jack did not follow immediately. "He's gone," he said, and Jack bent his neck, his eyes focused on Snake who was standing on the remains of the briefcase, the wind flowing through his hair, and the light of day setting him into darkness and appearing as a silhouette.  
  
"Snake," Jack began, looking back down. "I know I killed him. I shot him. Right in the center of his back." He lifted his head again and stepped over to Snake's side, trying to stand as proudly as possible. Snake shook his head, watching the people scurry from their cars and point, in awe, at two completely demolished vehicles.  
  
"Whatever you did…he's not dead. I don't doubt that you sent that bullet right TO his back, but I'd be surprised if it ever grazed his skin," Snake commented, his eyes still analyzing the horror and disruption on the street. Jack's gaze moved from the chaos to Snake, and it was filled with confusion. "Remember his knives?" Snake waited for an unconscious reply and then continued. "He kept them in his suit jacket…he returned them to his jacket before he went off…I'll bet they littered every inside inch of that suit."  
  
"He deflected it," Jack claimed in awe. He hadn't pinned him in the head, where he would have been defenseless, but instead he'd aimed for his back. 'Why his back?!' he thought. His fist pounded against his thigh in frustration.  
  
"Forget about it," Snake said, leaving Jack even more confounded. "What worries me isn't that he is here, but why he is here." Snake touched his hand to his ear, and Jack followed suit. "Otacon?" he recited, and there was a click followed by a familiar return.  
  
"Snake?" Otacon questioned, looking over a fresh photo of Formal sprawled against the window of El Arteigo. "I picked up a VIS (Visual Imaging System) image networked through your feedback system. What happened?" Snake paused.  
  
"Formal is here," Snake answered, surveying the streets. "He left a 'present' for us. C4 explosives I'll bet. Blew the front of the restaurant to pieces…along with your friend from the UFAC." Otacon did not gasp. He did not cry. He just sat there, his eyes weak and his mouth hanging open. "Two cars are in pieces on the street, and Formal got away. Otacon, who are these people?"  
  
"I don't know," Otacon answered. Lifting the Special Report of The Manhattan Resident to his eyes, he recited an article on the second page. "Here we go, listen to this. 'The terrorists involved in this morning's attack have not yet spoken to the representatives of the United States, but after tracing a line of theft through Cuba to the Middle East, UN officials have released a clue as to the identity of these terrorists. The acronym 'UFAC' has come up in many foreign reports, and US officials are becoming involved in the search for an explanation. And, to this point in time, all US representatives have denied knowledge of 'UFAC.'"  
  
"The terrorists are part of the UFAC?!" Snake proclaimed, quizzically. Otacon shook his head.  
  
"They have not confirmed anything, and the acronym's presence in a report doesn't mean that it's the name by which they are referred. Besides, the UFAC is an 'Anti-Patriot' alternative, not some ballistic terrorist organization." Otacon sounded nearly frustrated with having to explain so much to Snake, but he shrugged the tone aside, and waited for another to continue the conversation.  
  
"We should get out of here then?" Jack insisted. Otacon nodded in approval.  
  
"Police will be swarming the area. I wonder why they aren't working to stop the invasion," Otacon questioned. Snake nodded, a smile on his face.  
  
"Ocelot is the Police. He doesn't put it all on the table until he knows he's got a Check Mate. He's holding them back." Snake turned to Jack and nodded.  
  
"Snake, Jack…be careful," Otacon added, and they smirked at his request.  
  
"Over and out, Otacon," Snake said, and the transmission had ended. The two stood there, the craziness and the chaos feet ahead of them. Bystanders had a hard time deciding what to look at: the cars or Snake. Both seemed to be attention getting: the destruction of the cars and the unusual gear and clothes that Snake wore. "Let's go," he said to Jack, and they stepped onto the sidewalk and moved to the right.  
  
As they went down the sidewalk, people rushing by frantically, the traffic started again as red and blue lights flashed behind them. The cars ran by, their faint taillights leaving trails of color in the air. Looking at it more closely, they felt the same with the agent from El Arteigo. They had met, and he had died. Like the cars, and like the people, he had come and gone. It hurt Snake…that feeling. Everyone he met, he kept distance to. Why? Because they were like the agent. They had come and gone.  
  
Come and gone.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry that it has taken me so long to update, and I am equally sorry that this chapter was so short, but my family is going through hard times, and I have been trying to make the transition from my game's script to writing full-time prose. Together, these things have taken much of my thought and time, and school is getting rough…well, I won't stop here. I'll have the next chapter up for you in the next two days. Yes, that's a promise. Take care! Ciao! 


	8. FACtion

Chapter Eight: FACtion  
  
  
  
The sun was moving still, and the temperature was showing no signs of relenting. Jack and Snake's boots clapped the sidewalk as they went by, and the heat suffocated their bodies, pushing sweat from them and letting it slide over their skin. They had been on the boats nearly an hour and a half ago, and all ready the sun was eating away at them, devouring their energy and weakening their senses. They were victims of the heat.  
  
"Well, the temperature is still hovering up there in the mid-eighties," a voice called, and Jack and Snake stopped, turning to their right to see a display window housing nearly fifteen large televisions. On them, a man with dark brown hair sat in a suit at a news desk, rattling off how miserable it was. "You know, Jon, it doesn't feel like eighty. More like ninety to me," he said smiling. The camera moved to a meteorologist who stood in front of a digitally rendered background that watched over the state of New York.  
  
"That's right, Mike," the man exclaimed, pointing out spots on the map. "For the past couple of years, the weather has been very similar around this time. What we have in the western part of New York is a very dry heat, but over in Manhattan we're encountering terrible humidity. We've been having trouble contacting our reporters in Manhattan, but the reports we've received from neighboring areas like the Bronx are mentioning some sweltering conditions. We don't expect this to clear up until late tonight, when the temperature drops. It should be somewhere around 56 degrees…somewhere in the mid-fifties. But, tomorrow is supposed to be hotter." The man put on a discerning face. "Well, happy 4th of July, everyone, and back to you Mike." The camera returned to the man at the news desk and Jack turned to Snake in bewilderment.  
  
"They didn't mention the invasion," he commented, his face screwed up. Snake nodded, having noticed the same thing, and turned to Jack after surveying a couple sentences of the news reporter's continuation.  
  
"Yea," Snake frowned. "The Patriots must be censoring the news reports."  
  
"But didn't Otacon say something about a Special Report issue of The Manhattan Resident?" Jack questioned, and Snake hesitated. He looked at the pavement in question, and then turned his head back up to Jack.  
  
"He did," he replied.  
  
"Hmph…we need to get in touch with him." Jack insisted, but Snake shook his head subtly, and put a crease in the left corner of his mouth, a way of displaying his disapproval.  
  
"I've got a feeling he has a lot more to worry about. There's certainly some tension between him and the UFAC regarding the position we're in. He doesn't' need us putting our lives in his hands every time we hit a dead end. He worries enough about us as it is."  
  
"Otacon? Worry? Hah!" Jack said sarcastically, resting his hands on his hips and throwing back his head to act out an overly exaggerated cackle like an old man would do trying to amuse his grandchildren.  
  
"Right," Snake snickered, "let's just head for the warehouse. Maybe it's best we complete our mission with the UFAC before going off and saving Manhattan." Jack nodded tentatively, and then staring at him in question.  
  
"We've all ready driven a quarter of the way up Manhattan," Jack claimed. "We should have decided on this before we came up here and almost got blown to pieces!" Snake looked at him uneasily, remembering the UFAC agent when the flames roared over his body…terrible.  
  
There was a ring in their ears then, and the two looked at each other anticipating Otacon's hurried orders. Not wanting to put him back into the situation, they thought not to answer, but Snake felt it rude not to. "Hello?" he asked, and Jack moved into the conversation also. There was heavy breathing from the other end, and Snake realized instantly that Otacon had not contacted them.  
  
"Hello…Solid Snake," the voice called, feeble and worn. The person barely seemed alive, but there was an obvious furiousness subjected toward Snake upon hearing it, and the two things put together led Jack to only one possible solution.  
  
"Formal," he answered in a disrespectful tone. Gritting his teeth, he looked to Snake as the voice began to laugh. Snake shook his head, shooting down Jack's yearning to interrupt with foul statements and vulgar accusations. 'Let him talk,' Snake mouthed, and Jack nodded reluctantly.  
  
"Jackie boy, is that you?" he questioned. Jack could not contain himself.  
  
"I killed you --!" he began, and Snake swiftly raised his hand, signaling for Jack to stop. He did. Formal continued.  
  
"Yes, it is you," the foreign voice called, "and yes, this is I. Or rather…it is he, for his voice belongs to another."  
  
"Dead?" Snake questioned, and Formal laughed.  
  
"He is not dead, and neither am I, Snake. I," he paused, "I am very much alive. In fact, I have yet to be harmed by a bullet…Jack."  
  
He waited, expecting Jack's immediate outburst of rage, but it did not come in words. Instead, he had pulled a Hammerli 280 from within his jacket and had fired one shot through the display window to their right, and a television flickered off as smoke rose from it's shattered front. Snake grabbed Jack's upper arms and threw him against the window, lightly enough to avoid breaking it. Seeing his face, Jack had become frightened more than ever. He stood there, his arms forced behind his back, and was let free when Snake had forced the Hammerli from his hand and had pushed him into the TV Shop and closed the door behind them. Bystanders frantically scurried about, and some reached pay phones to call for the police. Snake and Jack stared at each other, their ears listening intently as the foreign voice returned.  
  
"Nothing to say, Jack?" Formal provoked him. "Very well then. Let me get on to the more important matters. I would very much appreciate seeing you on the third floor of the IN-Tech building. It's on the northeast corner of the Franklin and Hudson intersection. Will you be able to make my acquaintance?" Snake looked at Jack who nodded without hesitation.  
  
"We'll be there," Snake replied.  
  
"Oh, and one thing," Formal started, preventing Snake from closing the transmission. "I want Jack." Jack's eyes lit up with excitement just then, but Snake watched him, weary of how to take the statement. "No offense to you, Snake, but I believe he and I have some catching up to do." The foreign voice hinted at amusement, and Jack was ready. Whenever. Wherever. "Until then."  
  
"Until then," Jack answered quickly, and they closed the transmission.  
  
"My…my TV! You bastards!" a man cried, moving out from behind a storage closet in the back of the shop. Snake turned to the man and quickly raised his SOCOM to the man's chest. He stopped where he was, and threw his arms in the air.  
  
"Sorry about that," Snake commented, turning away from the man and heading out the door after slipping his SOCOM back into its holster. "The economy is screwed anyway," he called aftr exiting the shop, and the clerk fell onto the floor in exhaustion.  
  
"One more gun is pointed at me," he said, trying to catch his breath, "and I'm gonna drop dead." He took a deep breath, and exhaled, sending it through the room as people hurried by outside. By that time Jack and Snake had both gone out of site, and the streets were quiet again.  
  
  
  
The coffee house was dim and quiet still, but some sunlight had managed to slip in through the wall of windows. Still, there were no more than three other men or women sitting at the tables, enjoying their coffee and their sandwiches, but more people were moving on the streets beyond. The Customer sat patiently in his seat, and as he heard an annoying creaking noise from the rear of the room, he turned his head.  
  
Out of the bathroom stepped the same beautiful woman, her jean shorts sagged below her hips, and exposing more of her underwear than before. She had a crazed look about her face; one of absolute bliss, and her hair fell down to her shoulders, bouncing with her step. Her lips were a glossy red, and her beautiful eyes fell over The Customer, a smile forming on her face as she walked behind the service counter. She fell against the counter; her body tired. Tossing a string of hair out of her face, The Customer grinned and turned back to his computer, typing something into the computer as a voice erupted in his ear.  
  
"Sir?" the voice called, and he fumbled to turn away from the service counter, cupping his hands over his ear and his mouth. "Sir?!" the voice called louder.  
  
"I'm here," The Customer answered. "What is it, Colonel?" He shot a look back at the service counter, and entangled his eyes with the waitress'. Smiling quickly, he turned away.  
  
"The news," he started, his voice shaky, "the news isn't making its way out of Manhattan. No one but the people of this city knows anything of the invasion." The Customer seemed somewhat amused by this, chuckling subtly.  
  
"The Manhattan Resident is still getting the word around."  
  
"But sir, if we want to end the Patriots, we have to disclose them to the public. This public is too small of an audience," the colonel insisted, but The Customer shook his head.  
  
"Who controls the flow of media?" he asked.  
  
"The Patriot," the colonel answered.  
  
"Somewhat, but there is another who watches even closer," The Customer proclaimed. "Still, take this as a sign. Now, at least we know that old Shalashaska is still alive and kicking." The colonel grinned, but deep within he was still frightened that their plans were failing. "Now, send in a notice to The Manhattan Resident. This bombing is something the people need to know."  
  
"Won't it only frighten them?" the colonel nodded.  
  
"It's better they hear it from us than from bystanders," The Customer indicated.  
  
"But how will they know it is us?" the colonel questioned. The Customer sat for a moment, thinking long and hard, and then, after taking another look at the beautiful waitress, he returned a response.  
  
"Sign it from FACtion." 


	9. A Sniper's Signature

Chapter Nine: A Sniper's Signature  
  
  
  
"Snake? Jack?" Otacon asked, his voice coming through the Codec to Snake and Jack as they headed toward the IN-Tech office buildings. Stopping on the sidewalk and stepping into an alley, they put their hands to their ears and buried themselves in the shadows.  
  
"Yea, Otacon," Snake answered. "We're here." Otacon sighed.  
  
"I spoke with some men from the Press Circle, which is in constant conversation with nearly every broadcasting station, radio deck, and paper in the United States. They said that The Manhattan Resident plans to release another Special Edition within the next hour or so to catch up on further investigations and see how the theft in the Middle East is connected with the invasion," Otacon stated.  
  
"Good work," Snake nodded, looking to Jack who seemed anxious to end the conversation and move to the IN-Tech building. "Anything else?"  
  
"I contacted representatives from the UFAC," he said shakily. "They aren't going to let the mission go. They want us to have the Compilation in our possession by five o'clock this afternoon."  
  
"That's when the bulldozer crashes the party?" Snake questioned, and Otacon nodded.  
  
"That's right," he said. "They're willing to give you a little flexibility, and are not restricting your actions with the invasion, but if we fail to complete their mission by five, we're not going to be on their good side."  
  
"It doesn't sound like we are, anyway," Snake commented.  
  
"Now, now, Snake. Just," Otacon paused. "Can you infiltrate the warehouse and retrieve the needed information by five?" Snake was hesitant in answering, and not knowing the time as it was added to the complication of things.  
  
"What's the time?" he asked, and Otacon checked his watch. "Just about 12:50," Otacon assured him, and Snake looked into the shadows around him, searching for some sort of positive answer, but optimism was hard to come by in a situation like his. And seeing as they were all ready scheduled to meet with Formal at the IN-Tech facilities, he didn't see any way of making it to the warehouse in time to transfer the data and escape with their lives.  
  
"I'm sorry, Otacon," he said, sighing. "I don't think we can make it. We're…heading to the IN-Tech building now. Formal contacted us." He could hear the anxiety in Otacon's fitful sigh, and he felt terrible. Somehow, this went beyond canceling a business favor. Otacon seemed hurt by Snake's answer, and that in turn hurt Snake. 'Damn,' he thought.  
  
"I'm coming to Manhattan," Otacon said after nearly a minute of painful silence that dug into Snake like a knife. "I'll make arrangements with the UFAC to try and extend the mission limit, and get in touch with Mei Ling and Naomi."  
  
"Otacon," Snake began, "Manhattan isn't safe now. They could kill you on entry."  
  
Otacon sighed heavily. "Snake, I am coming to Manhattan. Good luck with Formal. As soon as I've arrived, I'll contact you."  
  
"Otacon, I –," Snake began.  
  
"Over and out," Otacon ended, and Snake's head fell. Never…never in his life had he heard Otacon so upset with him. Even Sniper Wolf…it didn't compare. This was less physical, but…he could tell. He could sense Otacon's pain, and it pulled him apart inside. 'I failed him,' Snake thought, and he heard Jack's subtle steps as he moved toward him, setting his hand on Snake's shoulder and looking him in the eye.  
  
"He's coming to Manhattan, Snake," Jack said, laying out the facts for Snake. "We have to take care of our business, and he'll take care of his."  
  
Snake shook his head wildly. "It's not like that," he stopped. "This isn't just Otacon's business. We committed to him. He committed to them. And now, he's getting burned for it…try being on the receiving end sometime."  
  
Snake shrugged off Jack's gentle touch, and stepped out of the alley, turning left and continuing down the sidewalk. Jack sighed and jogged out of the alley, turning once when he heard the trash cans that were piled in the shadows creak and roll this way and that. His heart speeding, he turned out of the darkness and entered the light of day, following Snake with a slower step as to intentionally stay out of his way. There was enough going on in his life to give any other man a heart attack, and Jack didn't even know the half of it.  
  
Still, the walk was a short one, and their silence was quickly displaced when Jack inevitably stopped beside Snake at the foot of the steps reaching up to the doors of IN-Tech. Jack turned and peered through the cloudy glass, trying to make out what was within, but it almost appeared as if they had been intentionally left unclean.  
  
"IN-Tech," Snake smiled. "That's NewTech's rival corporation." Jack turned to him.  
  
"NewTech?" he asked, and Snake nodded subtly.  
  
"NewTech supplies Philanthropy with all of the devices it needs. We've been business partners for the past three years." Snake looked over the building, noticing how tall it was: nearly ten floors. 'Not too bad,' he thought. "They make good cell phones." He laughed lightly.  
  
"Right," Jack turned away, taken with the sky blue windows that stretched the entire height of the IN-Tech office building. Sending one glare to Snake, he cocked his head and lifted his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'm off, eh?" Snake nodded in return.  
  
"I'll wait here and make sure you don't have any unwanted guests," Snake winked and Jack took that as an apology for how Snake had acted moments ago. Jack smiled all that he could and started off to the doors, Snake grabbing him by the arm. "Good luck," Snake said, and Jack nodded before breaking loose and entering the building.  
  
The doors closed quietly, a very faint 'swoosh' noise lingering as it slowly locked in place. Snake sighed and turned to the street, watching the cars fly by. Tired and concerned, he observed the area, looking for something…anything. And there it was. A bench.  
  
Quickly, as to not forfeit it to an old, scrawny homeless man or woman, he took a seat propping his arms on the back, and letting his head dangle back carelessly. "Whew," he exhaled, letting his body lay over the bench like a wet rag doll, affixing itself to the environment. Closing his eyes, he let his ears and his nose hear and smell. Everything seemed different then, and the Manhattan he had seen seconds before seemed to multiply, expanding miles and miles beyond its fixed boundaries. He saw a grand empire, and as cars sped by, their volume set on the top notch, it began to deteriorate. But, as they would fade away, and as the men and women stepped over the sidewalks, the clatter of shoes on the cement played a relaxing tune to which Snake nearly fell asleep to before hearing a voice creep into his ear.  
  
"Snake," it whispered. "Sna-ake," it came again, this time the 'a' being extended. Slowly, his head bent back to its normal position, and he looked ahead as he felt something burning in his forehead. "Snake…I'm watching you." And then he knew what was lying upon his forehead.  
  
A big red dot...a sniper's signature. 


	10. Four Minutes

Chapter Ten: Four Minutes  
  
  
  
"Whose this?" Snake questioned, moving up in the chair and sitting as straight as possible. His face scrunched up and he sternly looked onward, awaiting the voice to return. It was a woman's. It was a beautiful voice.  
  
"Good morning, Solid Snake," the voice called, and he put on a quick smile, one that easily displayed his sarcasm. The woman chuckled, or giggled rather. "The early bird catches the worm, Snake. It appears you are the worm, and I am the bird." Snake frowned.  
  
"You're young," he said, judging his accusation off of her tone. It was just high enough, and just low enough to belong to a girl in her late teens, possibly. "19?" he questioned, and she giggled again.  
  
"20," she replied, "nice try." Snake was surprised. A sniper? At age 20?  
  
"You must be talented," Snake joked, trying to lighten the mood. The sun that hung over was like a burning light, put in his eyes as he awaited interrogation. Humorously, this woman – or girl – was the interrogator. It was amazing how the cards were dealt sometimes.  
  
"I am, in fact," she answered, the heat on his forehead sliding down his body and to his chest. It moved to his heart and he looked down, about to try and swat it away. "So, would you like to come up to my place?" she asked, her voice seductive. Snake's eyebrows tilted in dissatisfaction and his mouth curved off in an odd way.  
  
"I don't date minors," he replied, smirking. Quickly, the red dot returned to his forehead and his body grew tense again. He scowled, the sun touching off of the bench and reflecting ahead of him. Surprisingly enough, the sight of the woman's gun did not waver, even in the blinding glare of the sun overhead.  
  
"Don't date minors?" she asked. "You wouldn't be…dating me, Snake. But instead…pleasing me." He could sense her smiling, but he simply stared ahead, his expression unchanging. "Wouldn't you rather be enjoying yourself with me than working so hard out there in that hot…burning sun?" Her voice was sensuous and tempting, but Snake wasn't one for romance, nor was he a traitor. And no doubt, becoming intimate with the enemy was treason.  
  
"I think I might be a little to old for you," he commented, trying to put on a worthy smile – one that held no humor but perfectly portrayed how much he was enjoying the conversation. "Maybe next time?"  
  
"Won't you only be older then?" she asked, and he cocked his head as if he had just realized their predicament.  
  
"I guess you're right," he said sarcastically, "but you'd be older too. I'd rather a more stable relationship." There was no doubt that everything that he said was simply to stall the woman, but how long it would last wasn't clear.  
  
"Stable?" she asked. "I can hold a sniper rifle on a single target for hours." He frowned, and she waited for a response, but none sufficed. "Just think about it, Snake. You'd be so much more comfortable here. You could enjoy all the pleasure in the world. Is there anything more a big, strong man like you could ask for in a woman?"  
  
"A woman who is trying to kill me," he added, and with that she seemed to set aside the small talk and concerned herself with the true matters at hand.  
  
"Stand up," she ordered, her voice not as calm as before, but taking command. "Stand up!" she hollered, and Snake shook his head subtly as he stood. His body ached with the added stress of merely standing and he waited in agony for the woman to continue. "Cross the street when traffic stops," she declared, and Snake examined the furious movement of cars, their engines roaring and their wheels crying as they ran across the scorching pavement.  
  
  
  
The elevator doors slid open and Jack stepped inside, his legs weak and ready to collapse. He had not done too much walking or running, but he was feeling uneasy at the peculiar sight of an empty floor. Peering to the left and to the right, he moved into the elevator backwards as to get the best look of the first floor offices before making the situation more than it was. But, as the doors slid closed, he realized that the workers were certainly not hiding. 'Where is everyone?' he asked himself as the gears turned and the cables tugged, pulling him up the elevator shaft in a continuous motion.  
  
In the elevator, he felt safe but vulnerable. Formal was waiting for him on the fourth floor – exactly where the elevator was taking him – and until those doors opened again, and until he sighed in welcome relief, he was in the hands of a machine. For that half of a minute, he controlled nothing, and Formal controlled everything.  
  
The elevator stopped.  
  
There was a lurch in Jack's stomach as a screen in the left wall of the elevator blinked on, and a familiar face appeared as the lighting adjusted. There was a sickening grin stretched across his pale face, and atop his head was a black top hat, it's bill turning to the sky around the edges. A soft cackle, and Formal stepped back, revealing a collar gripped in his hand, and a lifeless body dangling from it like a sopping-wet rag.  
  
"Welcome to Formal's Fun House," his mouth opened wide with glee, and he expressed an odd humor, winking his right eye. "Well? You didn't expect for me to let you just waltz right in here, did you?" Jack's eyes moved to the body as its mouth moved this way and that. 'He's not dead,' he thought. 'Not dead.' "You have to work for it, Jackie boy! My time does not come without a price! I believe this is a reasonable assumption, don't you?" Jack sneered.  
  
"I killed you," he stated, but Formal shook his head wildly, and raised his index finger before the camera as if he had pinpointed some grand idea.  
  
"Ahh," Formal began, "you may have ebbed me off the brink of sanity, but you did not kill me! My knives stay truthful and loyal to the end. They would not have let me die there…not then. I had to stay there…in that freezing cavern of a storage facility. I had to sneak into a tiny nook to elude the Police. For three months, Jackie boy. Three months I spent in there! Wasting away! You would have enjoyed it so, Jackie. You would have been like me…and because of you I lost myself! All that I held dear was thrown into that bottomless pit of sorrow," he babbled. His expressions were terrible. He was nothing like he had been before. When they had last known him he was a very proper opponent, but over the course of a few months he had fallen into a deep state of insanity.  
  
"Well then…let's play a little game, shall we, Jackie?!" Without answering, Jack displayed a discerning face, showing his disgust with Formal who jumped back as if something had landed at his feet. "Maybe if you know of the stakes, you will rethink that answer of yours." Pulling a radio from his belt and holding it to the man's face who was limp in his hand, he spoke. "You have him?" he asked, and there was a moment's hesitation before a voice returned.  
  
"Aye aye," a woman's soothing sound came to him and he nodded, smiling at Jack with a cruel insanity about his face.  
  
"Let us take a peek behind door number one!" Formal cried as he touched a switch on a small device in his free hand. The screen blipped to a black void, and after a few moments Jack could see a woman standing over a man, a gun pointed at the man's forehead. She smiled, her icy white lips glimmering in the light from above. Her long white hair trailed down her back, and ended at her waist. Around her waist was a sweater. She wore a black leather jacket and contrasting white pants, and as the fluorescent lights shined down on her she seemed to illuminate, sending a cool aura through the elevator.  
  
"Snake?" Jack voiced, analyzing the man before her and realizing that he was indeed Solid Snake. He grunted in return, and the woman who stood over him grinned wide.  
  
"So," Formal cut in, the camera returning to him, "interested?" Jack looked at him scornfully.  
  
"What do I do?" With that, Formal's eyes lit up with joy, and he quickly continued with the instructions.  
  
"This elevator shaft is lined with explosives: handiwork of a very skilled bomb expert," he began, his voice excited. "They are set to explode in…six minutes," he checked his watch and started the timer. Jack hurried for the doors, but Formal cried after him. "Ah ah ah," he said, waving his finger, "there is one more thing. In the corner of your compartment is a small bag. Go and open it."  
  
Uneasily, seeing the twinkle in Formal's eye, Jack stepped over to the bag, and carrying it before Formal, he pulled the top loose – tied shut with leather – and looked inside. Suddenly, as his eyes adjusted and the light in the elevator struck the items within – making them glimmer – the bag split apart and eight gleaming objects flew this way and that.  
  
Jack dropped the bag to his feet, and looked around to notice what was floating in the air around him. Four knives were above him, forming the vertices of a square, and at his feet were four more, mimicking the pattern. Running toward the wall of the elevator an invisible force stopped him midway, marked by the glinting knives. "Damn!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the solid air.  
  
"Five minutes, Jackie," Formal said, throwing his head back like Jack had done and let out a cold, high laugh: one that could make anyone fall in horror. Jack fell against the box and looked around, breathing heavily. 'Nothing!' he thought. 'There is nothing! No way out,' his mind raced. "This does make things a little more interesting, does it not?" Formal smiled. "Compliments of Klaymore and myself. Quite an ingenious plan, eh?"  
  
"Klaymore?" Jack questioned, beating on the walls with his palms. Nothing budged. It was thicker than cement.  
  
"Edwin Klaymore," Formal began, "Former Australian member of the Universal Freedoms Activists Council. Involved in a bombing when he was a child, ever since escaping the flames he was fascinated with both the fragile structure of humans, and the intricate nature of explosives. He is a highly praised addition to FACtion's 1st Officers Unit." 'FACtion?' Jack thought, but before anything else had passed behind his eyes, something emerged from the right, blasting into the elevator and sending fragments of steel around the room.  
  
Ducking even though the knives still guarded him, Jack watched as a figure climbed into the compartment and found stable footing on the floor. His identity was drowned out by a black trench coat – decorated with sparsely located red designs, it's collar tall enough to shield the face from heavy gazes – and a pair of sun glasses propped on the arch of his nose.  
  
As he raised his right arm, Jack's eye caught the shotgun in his hand and he watched as the trigger was pulled, sending a blast of steel through the screen in the wall. With the quick explosion of glass and metal there was a wonderful silence, and a swift clatter as the knives fell to the floor.  
  
The man nodded, and in a moment was gone: disappearing out of the hole he had created. Jack sat there for a moment, his mind racing again with questions. 'Who?' he though avidly, his brain searching for the answer but there was not one. He recognized those movements…and there was something about him, though he saw so little, which led Jack to think…led him to ponder.  
  
'Four minutes,' he told himself, ripping his mind away. Four minutes. 


	11. Excuses

Chapter Eleven: Excuses  
  
  
  
He was on the top of the elevator. His legs were strong and stable, not shaking or quivering under the tension. Looking up, he could see small boxes lining the elevator shaft, not hidden at all. Sighing, he moved to the edge, peering down the shaft in hopes of spotting the stranger, but there was nothing there but a gray pit.  
  
Grappling onto loose levers and cables, he moved up the shaft. As he went, everything was the same. He passed a charge of explosives, moved a little to the left, and then continued on. It was a uniform procedure, and required repetition, but there was no doubt that for the gift of life anyone would at least try and tackle the task whether they succeeded or failed.  
  
"Three minutes," he said aloud, examining the shaft as he passed a set of doors, no plank to stand upon. Looking above it, he saw the number three, painted neatly as if a stencil was used. 'Not like anyone's gonna see it,' Jack thought and continued upward. Only one floor to go…  
  
By the time two minutes were all that remained, he had found his set of doors glimmering like the gates of heaven. Over them was printed the number four, and with the little strength that had not been swallowed by the bottom of the pit as it seeped out with his sweat, he swung himself onto the two inch ledge that served useless for anyone but himself.  
  
Working equally hard to keep his balance, he slipped his fingers between the doors and tugged on them with his might. They budged only inches before his strength had been exasperated and he was forced to grab the wall otherwise plummet into the void at his feet. 'Try it again,' he told himself, attempting to build his morale.  
  
And so, he pulled again, harder than the first. The doors, his reflection staring back at him in agony, slid nearly a foot apart, but at that point he had been drained of his will yet again. 'Two minutes,' he told himself, cracking his knuckles and bracing the wall. 'Two minutes.' He returned his hands to the tiny gap, and once again forced them aside.  
  
But, this time it was different. This time, the doors were separated as great as they could be, and Jack fell upon the cold, white hall of the fourth floor as they slowly retracted, pushing the darkness away. As he peered upward, his eyes opening only slightly, the blinding white light brought back horrid memories. Memories of Hell's Outpost. Socrates. Ocelot. Farrel…Formal. But Formal wasn't a memory yet, for he was still alive. There was no way to look back on his existence, because his existence was in the present.  
  
"Up!" a voice broke the silence, cutting into Jack like a sharp knife. As his eyes split wide, he saw a silver light glinting before his eyes, and when he rolled away and stood – alarmed – it flew into the air, pointing at him again. A knife. "Follow me," the voice called again, and Jack stared behind the hovering knife to see a man dressed like the men aboard Jack's boat. His sunglasses were worn appropriately, and as he turned away the knife sped down the hall and around the corner. Jack stood, stunned.  
  
"Come on!" the man yelled, looking over his shoulder and noticing Jack who remained stationery. "Listen, I'm not supposed to pull a gun on you, but I will! Now up tempo!" he hollered, and Jack reluctantly followed, his had rested on his Hammerli 280. As they stepped down the hall, it didn't seem out of character for Jack to refrain from retaliating. He wanted to fight Formal just as Formal wanted to fight him. Whatever the risk.  
  
The man took a left at the end of the hall just as the knife had done, and once he had turned he stood against the wall of the next hall, not giving any instructions from there. Jack looked at him oddly, but looking beside the man he saw a door. It was closed, but seeing as there were no other routes but the length of another hallway and a surely endless web of branching paths, he turned the knob and cautiously stepped inside, his wits about him.  
  
  
  
The apartment in which Snake waited was cold and dull. The walls were pale and two chairs, one large and soft, and the other silver and hard. The woman sat – her legs crossed and Snake's SOCOM in hand – comfortably in the soft chair, staring at Snake who sat tied to the silver one. Truth be told, Snake did find the woman attractive, but she seemed a whole generation younger than he.  
  
She smiled. "You have been looking at me a lot," she insisted, subtly winking and puckering her lips. Snake looked on in something like disgust.  
  
"There isn't much spectacular scenery," Snake replied. "In case you hadn't noticed." She moved out of her chair as he finished, her body gliding like water…flowing. Her hands caressed her chair as she stepped away from it, and when it was not there to occupy her, she began to slide them over the SOCOM, her eyes seductive and her lips tempting. Snake looked on, not seeing her body, but something else.  
  
Shadows were cast under the door as a very faint noise could be heard, tapping quietly from beyond. "Aren't you glad you decided to come up?" she asked, taking Snake's thoughts from the movements of the shadows to the movements of her body.  
  
It was like she slithered almost…like a dance or portrayal of some spiritual art. Her eyes toyed with his mind, sending it from question to question as she moved ever closer. Sliding her hands down her waist and over her thighs, she finally found herself standing over him. Snake was not taken by her touch as she laid her hand over his chest, but by her beauty…and not by her beauty as much as her skill. She could make him enjoy her touch, and she could make him admire her beauty. He was her puppet, and only his will to resist could push the thoughts away.  
  
Snake's eyes shut tight, and he tried to block the images, he tried to fight back, but the ropes that bound him to his chair wouldn't give and his mind could not ignore the presence of the woman. She could not be ignored. "Snake," she said, her voice captivating him. "Kiss me," she spoke again, running the back of her hand over his rough face.  
  
His eyes opened, and he saw the shadows disappear from the doorway. The sight was painful, for as the shadows left, so did Snake's final strength. He wasn't going to act, but he had no strength left to fight it. He would let what happened, happen.  
  
The woman took his face in her hand, directing him toward her as she took a seat on his lap, wrapping her legs around the back of the chair and squeezing him tight. "Kiss me," she said again, and he pulled away. His resistance…his final act of resistance…seemed to amuse her, and with it she smiled. "You don't push me away," she said, moving her face closer to his: her eyes narrowing in on his. "Snake, just kiss me."  
  
Then, it happened. Snake didn't ask for it. He didn't commit it. But whether it was welcome or not, the woman's lips met with his, and the seconds that it lasted seemed to linger as if they were hours. When she pulled away, her face showing satisfaction in his submission, Snake closed his eyes and turned. Ashamed.  
  
"You cannot resist me, Solid Snake," she said. This time, as she moved closer, Snake spoke.  
  
"I don't generally start intimate relationships without knowing the name of my partner," he joked. He realized joking did not suit the situation, for the intimate scene that had been born in that dull apartment was far from humorous. "Frost," she said, and Snake smiled on the inside. He was one step closer to ending it all. At least he knew her name.  
  
"Now we continue?" she asked, he face full of delighted question. She was enjoying it. Snake nodded, unable to do anything else, and she locked lips with him.  
  
Through the heavy breathing, Snake's eyes were opened. He saw the shadows returning, and the bittersweet taste in his mouth was something he could live with. Something was coming. The moment would not last much longer.  
  
And as Snake had hoped, the moment lasted no longer. As the shadows faded, something slipped under the door. Eyeing it as closely as he could, Snake recognized it's slender shaft and the tiny red light that blinked on its end. Making out the fine print 'NewTech' on its side, he finally acted on Frost, pulling her closer to him and deepening their kiss to keep her interested.  
  
And then it exploded.  
  
The walls that were evidently not much more than insulation and two slabs of cardboard – painted to appear like wood – burst apart. Littering the air and the room with debris, the noise subsided, and a quick reaction came from Snake.  
  
Toppling the chair on its side and pushing Frost off of him, he managed to stand and turn for the balcony to his back. The woman stood as he bounded toward the two screened doors, and went for his SOCOM that lay forgotten on the hard carpet. Gripping it tightly in her hands, she aimed at the back of his head as he leaped through the doors and over the ledge, not firing once.  
  
Running to the balcony, she looked over to see Snake hastily untying the chair from his back and turning around the building, away from the grassy area, and to the streets. There, across the street, was the IN-Tech building. "Why didn't he just blow a hole through the balcony," Snake asked, and as he looked to his left to examine the traffic he saw a figure in a black trench coat hurrying down the sidewalk and into an adjacent alley.  
  
'Who?'  
  
  
  
"Jack," Formal spoke, his words pronounced through a seemingly lifeless body at his feet. Jack stepped into the room, examining it closely. It was an office. A typical office. No cubicles, but several terminals and desks. Jack smirked. "Not Jackie boy?" Formal grinned back, thoroughly enjoying Jack's attempt at humor.  
  
"Whichever you prefer," he said menacingly, bowing to Jack in a courtly fashion. Looking up without straightening his back, his smile made the odd transition to a frown. "I see you were helped." Every action he made was over exaggerated, as was a clown's. Finally standing straight, he raised his shoulders and put his finger to the corner of his eye imitating a tear. "I thought you would enjoy my game."  
  
"I came here to fight you," Jack exclaimed, taking a proud step forward. "Not to be blown up or to have my partner taken hostage." Formal's face was suddenly bright again. Bright and cheery, but eerily stomach churning.  
  
"Indeed," he replied, whipping five knives into his right hand like a magician would do with cards. He held them there, his mouth wide and surprised-like. "As it is MY funhouse," Formal began, pulling another hand of knives forth and leaving all of them in clear view of Jack, "we will play by MY rules!"  
  
"Yea?" Jack questioned, folding his arms. "And what are those?" Formal hid the knives behind his back as if he was four and his parents had walked in to the room as he was carrying a handful of matches.  
  
"I win," Formal grinned, "and you…lose!" At that, Formal pulled his knives forth and Jack hastily pulled his gun from its holster, aiming at the mime's forehead.  
  
There was a moment in which the two of them simply stood there, weapons aimed at each other. And when Formal sprung to the right, hurling all ten knives into the air as he spun artistically, Jack followed suit, firing his Hammerli 280 as he stumbled to the side.  
  
Falling behind a desk, Jack waited a few moments to compose himself and prepare, mentally, for battle. Then, he took a deep breath, and after deciding he was ready he turned and rested his arms on the desk, firing twice at Formal.  
  
There were two immediate 'plink'-like noises as the bullets were deflected in midair and shattered the wall to Jack's back. Taking a closer look, Jack could see the knives floating eerily through the air. 'A shield,' he thought, 'Damn.' Ducking beneath the table again, he turned to the right, searching for something to use against Formal.  
  
'A desk…a chair…a computer…a fire extinguisher…nothing good!' he thought, jerking his head forward in frustration. It was all a trap. First, it was planned for Snake to be taken captive under a laser sight, and then Jack walked into an elevator with explosives littering the building and a Star Wars-like futuristic force field of sorts, holding him there to die. All a trap. 'A goddamn trap!'  
  
He sprung to his feet, turning as he did, and stood there facing Formal with his Hammerli 280 aimed high. Everything stood still, not even the knives moving. Jack didn't understand. Why would Formal set it all up just to kill him when the other lower subjects involved in the invasion had merely set him free? He didn't want to kill Jack…and what did that man have to do with it all? Showing up in that black trench coat…Jack stopped.  
  
His eyes ran over the room and spotted the man who lay unconscious by Formal. Formal didn't want to kill him…"You wont kill me," Jack said and Formal smiled. "You want to tell me something." With that, Jack's gun moved to the man on the floor and closing his eyes tight, frightened and saddened, he pulled the trigger.  
  
Not even awakening from his sleep, the man died. Instantly. 'A…casualty of…war,' Jack told himself, and the knives stopped levitating. Formal's eyes narrowed, and he quickly threw his arm up to the doorway. A voice erupted.  
  
"You can't get rid of me!" a soldier's voice cried as Formal mouthed the words, sounding only with air. Jack turned swiftly, and fired through the doorway to his left. A body fell. It echoed in his ear, and Formal's disgusting glare of hatred boiled in his mind, leaving a painful image burnt on the surface of his eye. That glare…it would stick with him forever.  
  
And once the mime had gathered his knives – flying into his hands with ease – he turned for the wall of windows to his left (Jack's right), and bounded through them. Jack ran after him, stopping on the edge to watch as the knives formed around the mime and safely lowered him to the ground, only disappearing into his suit when he had found his footing.  
  
The sun that was swept into the room, no longer an eerie morning orange but a bright yellow, turned him back to the body that lay on the floor where Formal had stood moments earlier. Stepping silently toward the man, his Hammerli finding home in its holster, Jack's eyes fell over him in sorrow and remorse. Stopping, he voiced, "A casualty of war?" Jack sighed, shaking his head in repudiation. "Excuses."  
  
He stalked out of the room, his heart low and cold. 'Excuses,' he thought.  
  
'Excuses.' 


	12. Front Page Material

Chapter Twelve: Front Page Material  
  
  
  
Otacon sat at his computer, papers of many colors littering his desk space. He watched his monitor, his gaze blank and pale. Resting his chin on his fist, there was a sort of waiting in his eyes as the monitor's condition was reflected in his glasses.  
  
The room was fairly light, but no windows spotted the walls that were unusually clothed in a dark blue carpet of sorts. It was no larger than the size of the standard bedroom, and while he was left alone to his thoughts, security was tight. Cameras hung in every nook and cranny, and just beyond the door that was ready to withstand a minor explosion were two agents of the UFAC, and still along that hallway and all through the building many more men lurked.  
  
Otacon was troubled. Manhattan was where he wanted to be, but to get there would mean passing the request with the head representative of the UFAC: Gary Carpell. And he knew, just as any, that any efforts to leave the building would inevitably turn him back to his office where he would continue to work. There was no compromising with the UFAC, and even their leniency toward Snake and Jack – allowing them to keep up with the events regarding the invasion – was an implausible flexibility. The UFAC knew well that the time limit on their mission would restrict that sort of involvement.  
  
A sigh escaped Otacon as he dropped his head on the keyboard, smashing the keys and sending a swamp of letters across the screen. "I do it now, or not at all," he said, his face in his cupped hands. Then, carrying a deep breath, he stood and pushed his chair away. Scooting it back under the desk and picking a number of papers from the stacks, he tapped his forehead with two of his fingers and spoke to himself in a fit.  
  
Stopping at the door, there was a ring from behind him. Throwing his hand back to his side, almost as if someone had spotted his nervousness, he turned back to his desk and hurried to the cell phone that sat amidst the stacks of paper. Dropping the papers on the floor, he raised the phone to his ear.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, hurriedly. There was a sense of urgency in his voice – one that signaled a reply mirroring that urgency.  
  
"The Manhattan Resident has just released a new edition," the voice called. It was a man from the Press Circle. "You'll want to see this one." Otacon nodded fervently and grabbed up the papers from the floor, his cell phone propped against his ear with the assistance of his shoulder.  
  
"I'll go and get a copy," he answered. "Thanks for the notice." There was a grunt from the other man.  
  
"Welcome," he said, and the dial tone echoed through Otacon's ear as he dropped the phone in his deep lab coat-like pocket. Tugging lightly on his white coat and pushing his glasses up his nose, he stepped over to the door and jerked his hand to the right, flinging the door open wide.  
  
There was a muffled moan as one of the agents slipped out from behind the door, rubbing his forehead. Otacon turned, closing the door, and warily apologized as he and the two guards walked down the hall together. "I'm going to pick up the Manhattan Resident," Otacon implied. "You don't need to come with me." The two agents didn't acknowledge his statement, but just looked at him and smiled.  
  
Nearing the elevator, conversation becoming sparse, Otacon pushed up his glasses and quickened his pace to reach the elevator before it closed. He wanted the doors to close behind him, not allowing the agents to follow, but as he ran for them so did the agents. He pushed the button for ground floor and fell against the wall, tightening his stomach for the unnerving lurch that would follow.  
  
And as expected, it did.  
  
"There's no rush, Mr. Emmerich," one of the agents stated. "We could have brought a copy up to you, had it saved you the trouble." Otacon looked up at the man and smiled oddly.  
  
"I don't mind," he replied. "A little fresh air always helps." The agents smiled and nodded. Then, a beep sounded and the doors slid aside. Ahead of them was a lobby, and at the end of it all was a pair of glass doors that let the sunlight flood inside. People were standing in lengthy lines, their formations curving like snakes. Tables dotted the marble floor, and tellers stood behind them. A bank?  
  
With the assistance of the two agents, Otacon made his way through the tired crowds and to the glass doors. Knowing the routine, he let one agent go ahead of him, and the other went behind him. They tried to blend in, but with their nice black suits and white undershirts, that was an impossible realization.  
  
Stopping to breath in the warm, saturated air, Otacon cringed at its taste of stale sweat and looked up at the building he stood before. 'West City Bank,' a sign read, and he grinned. 'West City Bank? Not quite,' he thought and stepped to the right where there sat a news stand. The two agents picked up magazines on either side of Otacon who was scanning the racks for the Manhattan Resident.  
  
A small sign sat beneath an empty space entitled 'The Manhattan Resident,' and Otacon sighed. 'Not in,' he thought. 'Damn.' "Did you get a new edition of the Manhattan Resident?" Otacon asked, his question directed to the man behind the counter. Looking to the right and to the left, the man pulled a stack of gray paper from beneath the desk and slapped the down.  
  
"Five bucks," he said, and Otacon looked at him wildly. Holding his hand out and somewhat waving it, the man waited for the bills to fall into his palm. Otacon, still looking at him in awe, returned his gaze to the slot on the rack entitled 'the Manhattan Resident.' Beside it was a price: $1.00.  
  
"That says -," Otacon began.  
  
"One dollar," the man replied, cutting him off. "But I want five." There was a moment of silence among the two, but the world around them was alive with rap and the terrible revving of engines. "They're going fast. You just gotta know the price."  
  
"How do they go fast if they're under the table?" Otacon questioned.  
  
"You asked, didn't you?" the man replied. "You think those glasses of yours make you smart?" Otacon was appalled, and with the safety of the two agents he was not afraid to pursue.  
  
"I'll pay one dollar," Otacon stated confidently, his gaze set to the sky and his hands on his hips. There was a shake as the papers dropped to the man's feet. He smiled as Otacon's gaze turned back to him in outrage. Finding their feud interminable, he dove into his pocket and rustled around before pulling forth four bills and an odd number of change. Dropping it all on the counter, the man slid it into his possession and began counting the coins.  
  
Otacon's eyes were wide with amazement, and he grabbed his head furiously. "Sorry," the man answered. "Two cents short."  
  
One of the agents, who seemed to have been listening in on the entire conversation in amusement, finally stuffed his magazine back in the rack and stamped over to them, pulling out his wallet. "Oh for Chris sakes, just give him the damn paper." Throwing down five dollars and retrieving Otacon's under par-fortune, the man slapped a paper on the table and the agent rushed Otacon away with the presence of the second agent close behind.  
  
Stopping in the middle of the banking room, resistant to the agent's tug, Otacon's eyes fell over the headline. "A 'FACtion' of Freedom?" he recited, and the agents quickly huddled behind him, eyeing the words and scanning over the article. Without hesitation, the agents reading as they pulled him across the marble floor, Otacon touched his ear and waited for Snake's voice to raise.  
  
"Otacon?" Snake asked promptly, just as Otacon and the two agents were hidden behind the doors of the elevator.  
  
"Snake. Are you and Jack all right?" he asked.  
  
"We ran into some trouble, but we're –"  
  
"You're safe. Good," Otacon answered for him. "I just got a hold on a new Manhattan Resident. The enemy is named FACtion." Snake nodded.  
  
"Yea, we figured that out," Jack entered the conversation.  
  
"They sent in a letter to the press, and its cited in the article," Otacon claimed. "They mention the bombing, and a search for freedom, but oddly enough don't mention the Patriot at all." Simultaneously reading another article, he looked up in relief. "Snake? You remember how the warehouse storing the Compilation was supposed to be knocked down early this afternoon?" Snake nodded, and Otacon continued without any knowledge of his recognition. "It's been postponed. The city is working on mobilizing its police forces, but FACtion has them closed in their own buildings. Looks like the National Guard is on its way, but the chances of them entering the city are unlikely. I think the officials still have the feeling biological agents might be involved."  
  
"And that's not the case?" Snake asked.  
  
"I don't believe so. I'll do some research on the group and get back to you." Otacon assured him.  
  
"Are you on your way?" Snake asked, referring to the expected transfer from the Bronx to Manhattan Island.  
  
"No, but I'm working on it," he answered. "I'll contact you later."  
  
"Right," Snake answered, and the transmission was ended before Jack could sneak in a farewell. Turning to the agents as the doors opened to the floor of his office, he told them.  
  
"I need to speak with Carpell."  
  
  
  
"'The bombing that took place around noon today was an attack on a pair of radical citizens of Manhattan,' said the letter sent in from the enemy just in time for this edition's cut. 'The case that conspired, and the death of three innocent civilians, stopped at the nearby intersection, was not the intention of the attack. In the pursuit of freedom, we will stop at no lengths to right the wrongs of this world, but as long as you are compliant through the day there is no need to worry.' Signed at the bottom of this letter was the title 'FACtion.'" Ocelot's voice was filled with a certain enjoyment as he lowered the paper.  
  
"FACtion," he whispered to himself, moving to the next page to see the notice regarding the warehouse's destruction. A smile touched his face. "It shall be tomorrow," he said confidently and with relief. "Lights!" he cried, and the lights faded.  
  
Standing in his chair and neatly folding the Manhattan Resident on the desk, Ocelot turned in the shadows, his hands resting at his sides. Then, with a quick movement, he pulled his revolvers from their holsters and fired into the darkness, stopping nearly at the end of their rounds to listen to the echoes.  
  
"Hmm," he groaned, firing once more. This time, pointing to the ceiling, he heard an echo that seemed to vibrate the walls and the floor. Smiling, he slipped the guns into their holsters and took his seat.  
  
"Soon…these guns will be useful."  
  
  
  
"Sir?" the colonel's voice erupted in The Customer's ear. He sat there, reading the paper, and basking in the beauty of the front page. "Yes, colonel?" he questioned.  
  
"Looks like we're front page material, now." The Customer smirked. 


	13. Survival of the Fittest

Chapter Thirteen: Survival of the Fittest  
  
  
  
Weaving through alleys, Snake and Jack made their way through Manhattan, trying to decide on a new destination, seeing as the warehouse would not be destroyed for another day. At least that weight was off of their shoulders.  
  
Stopping in one of the alleys, Jack had stripped down to the same 'Skull- Suit' he had used when under the direction of FOX-HOUND and Colonel Campbell, who had eventually been proven to be an 'immortal being' of some sort. Nodding to Snake to continue, the two stepped into the sun, unprotected by the shadows of the alleyways. Seeing as public exposure could not really provide a hindrance to their operation, the refreshing warmth of the sun was something they invited whole-heartedly.  
  
Southbound on Hudson Street, they cut west on Jay Street, and found themselves on the sidewalks of Greenwich. Their gazes were pulled to the Washington National Park, which was to their right, built into a nook between two sets of resident homes. In the green grass, there were no children playing, no mothers or fathers resting. It was as bare as anything…more desolate than the most barren of deserts.  
  
Fear.  
  
There was a fear lurking in them all, and even in those who passed Snake and Jack there was unwillingness…some sort of disposition. It was a blind resonance, and just in their eyes, it was clear for the world to see. Most stayed bottled up in their homes, afraid for their lives, but there were others who braved the streets of Manhattan: their love for the city too great, and their courage too strong.  
  
Under the rays of the sun, everything appeared pure and lively…in most cases. But in the pale, blank, lifeless stares of the passing people, there was no purity. There was a wish for sleep…an awakening, for to the people of Manhattan, it was a dream. Some sick, eerie dream, configured through their fears and doubts.  
  
Doubt.  
  
Turning to Snake who stood nearest the street, Jack sighed, contemplating the relevance of the question that rested on the end of his tongue. "What…are you afraid of?" he asked, signaling a contemptuous clearing of Snake's throat.  
  
"Don't get ahead of yourself, kid," Snake answered, still walking without replacing his gaze. "Who said I WAS afraid of anything?" Jack smirked, but Snake found no real amusement in his statement almost as if it was the truest response he had to offer.  
  
"Just a question," Jack returned, bowing his head to the sidewalk.  
  
"Well," Snake began, pondering a suitable reply. "I don't think about it much, and I know that there are some things…I'd say snakes would be one." Jack's head turned up to him in amazement. 'Snakes?!' he thought wildly, making a mental reference to his partner's codename: Solid Snake.  
  
"I didn't chose my name, you know?" Snake answered, sensing Jack's bewilderment. "I got my fears from other people. Sort of inherited them from my…'role models.' Indiana Jones just happened to be one of them." Jack smiled. "I've never really been up close with a snake before, though…all of my fears are more of the unknown. Not so much the challenges of everyday life."  
  
"Wow," Jack put his hands behind his head as he exhaled. Snake threw a look at him.  
  
"What do you mean, 'wow'?"  
  
"It's just…your everyday life is sneaking around guys with guns. Anyone who went to an office day after day would be scared stiff doing what you do," Jack commented. Snake nodded inquisitively.  
  
"I guess so, but they don't have anything wrong with what they do day after day. They grow a custom to it. That's how I am," Snake answered insightfully. "You learn to adapt to your environment, whether its subconscious or not. But, the new age, it seems, is bent on adapting their surroundings to fit their own résumé."  
  
Jack looked off to the park that was now behind them, and his eyes longed to stick with it, but as he turned to the streets ahead, the grayness of it all sucked his emotions dry. The conversation broke free from his mind, and deteriorated faster than he had thought to ask the question that had started it all.  
  
"I take my world's shape," a familiar voice broke the silence.  
  
There was an explosion of tension in that single moment as Snake's head whipped around, searching for something that stood out. There were resident homes littering the opposite side of the street – their roofs flat and their windows wide open. 'Anywhere,' Snake thought, and then he turned to Jack who was looking around in confusion. Something was sitting on his forehead, and had been resting there nearly their entire walk.  
  
A big red dot.  
  
"Frost!" Snake cried inside, and dove into Jack's side. Both of them fell to the pavement as a loud crack exploded through the air and a portion of the sidewalk was crumbled beneath the weight of a bullet, weathered by the rippling wind and the coarse cement.  
  
Distant laughter came through the codec as Snake and Jack both found their footing and started off down the street. As walls of glass shattered, marking their path with a line of wreckage and destruction, people screamed and headed for cover as other stood in clear light, almost wishing for the next life lost to be their own.  
  
"Here!" Snake cried, grabbing a tight hold on Jack's forearm and guiding him to the left and into a darkened building. Pushing open the first set of doors, and hearing them break in their pass, they came into an exposed lobby area and when attempting to push through the second set of doors, they took to notice the darkness of the interior. 'Closed,' a sign read.  
  
Pulling out his Hammarli 280 as a bullet grazed the very tip of his big toe, Jack shot through the glass doors, and as he did an alarm broke through the streets and the police were alerted, instantly. But, just as soon as it had sounded, it disappeared again and faded into the quiet of day.  
  
Limping into the store with Snake at his side, the two fell into the shadows, and as they peered upward they saw the sheer magnitude of the building. Its ceiling reached several stories high, and just looking down one aisle it appeared larger than any 'Toys R Us' storefront. Instead, as a sign indicated – the light that remained no more than a dim blue glow – it was 'ZB Toys,' the current leading franchise in the children's toy department.  
  
Realizing its disposition, being located in the center of Tribeca, a once prosperous area of Manhattan crowded with mansions of the wealthy and famous, Jack dropped onto his back and sighed. Snake started down an aisle, stopping and turning to observe Jack's position. Seeing him on the floor he shook his head subtly.  
  
"Get up," Snake said, walking over to him and lifting him promptly onto his feet. "She's a hasty one," he said. "She wont stay cooped up in some bedroom window…she'll be moving."  
  
Walking deeper into the store, Snake guided Jack to the center of it all where Jack found rest against a towering shelf of 'Playschool' toys. Snake was pacing, his hand massaging his rough chin. "Damn," he voiced. "We were dumb to let our guard down."  
  
Jack shook his head. "No," he said, stopping Snake in his tracks. "In crowds we're safest." Snake could not help himself from interrupting.  
  
"You're wrong there, kid. All that does is increase the death toll. And that certainly isn't our job," Snake added testily.  
  
"Hmm," Frost's voice whimsically entered the spotlight, putting Snake and Jack on the edge. Their eyes searched wildly as a light entered the giant cavern of a room. "In my world, I play the predator." A long streak of light shot into the room, settled in the glassy floor. Then, three equally long shadows stretched over the scarce light, and from their silhouettes Snake could make out Formal with his knives exposed, and Frost with her sniper rifle in hand. The third was bulkier than the others, but there was no apparent weapon on hand.  
  
"Tell me," the woman whispered, alarming Snake and Jack again, "you wouldn't happen to be the prey?"  
  
"Heh, nature games. Nice," Snake commented, dropping a spent clip from his SOCOM, and pulling forth another. "Let's see what Darwin thinks." He slid in the second clip.  
  
Frost grinned. "Survival of the fittest." At that, the doors were shut, and all fell into darkness. 


	14. Weightless

Chapter Fourteen: Weightless  
  
  
  
The moments that followed were as endless as any Jack or Snake had ever experienced. It was like being on the opposite end of a transmission that has been cut with a scream. There is so much bewilderment…so much wonder. Like in Hell's Outpost, when Snake and Jack were abandoned by the faint glow of the moon, and to be locked within a single floor, a madman at their heels.  
  
The two stood readily, Jack more leaning than truly standing. But, both of them held the same…fear. It was the same fear they had experienced in that very moment at Hell's Outpost…that wretched uncertainty that rocked them closer and close to the ebb of existence where they would fall…where they would drown in their own emotions, too afraid to sneak or hide or fight. They would die on themselves.  
  
But, more than a test of strength, their predicament was one of the mind. Their opponents number five: Frost, Formal, the new shady figure, and themselves. They had to do away with their strengths – aim and stealth – and work primarily on their weakness – teamwork.  
  
"I've got some Optic NVL's," Jack said, and quickly Snake turned to him.  
  
"You're my eyes," he said, and Jack nodded, only seeing the faint blue outline of Snake's sharp features.  
  
Pulling forth a small container, one like that used for a pair of contacts, Jack undid the top and reached within. Seperating his eyelids wide, he dabbed the surface of his most eyes, and blinked. He did the same with his other eye before kneeling and touching his neck. Slowly, the world around him lit up with a shade of bright green, and he stood. "They never fail," Jack said, referring to the Optic NVG's.  
  
Supplied by 'Present Future,' one of Philanthropy's two greatest contributors in the technical field, the Optic NVG's were Night Vision Lenses. Tested for three years before reaching Philanthropy's gear cache, they had been released prior to the Hell's Outpost operation, and were part of the 'Compaction Project' of 2012 that also gave birth to the Z-Force and the Dead Drop equipment Snake had used during deployment.  
  
"Hello?" a faint voice called, causing Jack to jump away from the shelf he leaned against. Looking at the shelf in amazement, one of the boxes fell to the floor and broke open, cleanly at the end. "Hello? How are you today?" the voice called again as a small-mechanized bear walked steadily out of the broken box. Snake looked at it in disgust, ready to step on it, but before he had moved in its direction it stopped.  
  
Turning its head nearly 180 degrees, the bear's mouth widened and its eyes were glowing red. "You don't want to kill me," it said, and Snake stopped dead cold. "Let's play hide-and-seek," the bear paused, its smile menacing, "Solid Snake."  
  
Aiming his SOCOM at the bear's head, he shot once and its parts were sent across the aisle. The voice faded, and just as Jack was about to complain of the noise they had made, Snake grabbed his shoulder. "Formal," Jack said, realizing only then how the bear had been willing to speak Snake's name. "Then, he knows where we are!" Jack cried, trying to keep fairly quiet.  
  
Snake nodded wildly, and the two started down the aisle in a heated run as a 'ping' could be heard at their heels. Stopping and turning back, Jack saw a shiny silver knife resting in the cold, glassy floor. Calculating its angle subconsciously, he traced its path to the top of the shelf they stood beside. There, arms at his sides, stood Formal.  
  
"Don't stand there!" Snake cried, grabbing a hold of Jack's arm, but struggling to move him. "Come on, Jack!" he tried, but Jack wouldn't budge. He wasn't running. He was determined not to leave without a fight. Formal stood there. He wanted it too.  
  
"Hello, Solid Snake," a voice entered Snake's ear, and he turned in an instant. His eyes scanned the opposite end of the aisle as Jack left his side and as Formal dropped down from the shelves and found a rough landing at his feet.  
  
"Frost," Snake breathed, and there was a short giggle. "Where are you?" he asked, and she chuckled again, her finger on the trigger of a sniper rifle…somewhere in the building. Watching…waiting for the moment that Snake would step into her crosshairs.  
  
"And you honestly think I will tell you?" she asked playfully, following her remark with a soft, cold laugh that made the hair on Snake's neck stand on end. "Come to me, Snake. Come and find me. And when you do," she paused, letting Snake's mind race with unwelcome thoughts, "you and I can spend this day together. We can be in each other's arms forever…wouldn't you like that?" Snake shook his head furiously, trying to push the images away.  
  
"I know how badly you want me," she said, her voice so cool and seductive. "You can't resist me, Solid Snake. My body," she paused, licking her lips and watching through her scope as he stepped out of the end of the aisle and entered one that was perpendicular to it, "you want to feel my body. You want to touch me…to kiss me…to caress me."  
  
"You've got it all wrong," Snake said, a faint smile finding its way to his face. "I want to kill you." Sensing her presence, Snake bolted forward as something exploded behind him. Frost let her index finger lighten on the trigger as she assessed the damage of her attack. Peering back through her scope, she saw the scarred floor. Seeing no sign of blood or Snake, she smiled.  
  
"You're quick," she said, her voice entering his ear again as he sat with his back against the shelves. Nodding and pulling out a cigarette, he lit it quickly and set it between his lips.  
  
"You're slow," he answered and heard a vague laugh. "One shot, one kill. That's the way a sniper is supposed to take care of things." Hesitating, Frost's smile became a frown.  
  
"Like I said," she said more spirited than before. "You're quick." Snake turned his head to the right, and strained his eyes to see Jack and Formal. He could not. He only could listen.  
  
  
  
Formal spun away from Jack, deflecting several shots from Jack's Hammerli 280 as he retreated. Sending several knives into the air to form a shield, Formal grinned wide as his hand stretched to the right, activating another mechanized voice. "Jackie boy, don't you want to hear what I have to say?" Finding the origin of the voice, Jack fired at a box, and heard the machine sigh – its voice melting into silence.  
  
Formal turned to Jack, removing his glasses and dropping them into his suit pocket. Lifting his index finger and waving it, he took his top hat and flattened it before sliding it into his suit as well. His over exaggerated frown was provocation enough to set Jack off again, for the hatred the two shared had opened a gaping hole in their hearts, and to fill it…death of the other was imminent.  
  
"Save your confessions for purgatory," Jack added, and his eyes were locked with Formal's. There was a moment they shared, and as Jack became somewhat dazed the green glow of his Optic NVL's was blurred. Formal's hand stretched out to him like it had to the bear on the shelf. And then, he felt as if he was floating. Everything…every worry, every fear…it was washed away.  
  
  
  
"Snake," Jack's voice called. Turning to the right, Snake squinted his eyes and strained his ears. "Snake…behind you, Snake," his voice called out, and slowly Snake turned his head. By the light of his cigarette he could make out a figure towering over him. As it's arm stretched back, he fumbled with something behind his back.  
  
Then, as its arm flew forward, Snake dodged into the adjacent aisle and doused the figure with some sort of liquid. Realizing his position, he rolled to the left as swiftly as his body would allow. There was a crack as the floor exploded and the bulky figure stamped toward him. 'Frost,' he thought as he replayed the image of the floor cracking in his head.  
  
Bolting toward Jack who was ahead of him, a number of 'swoosh' noises crept up on him and the stiff air stopped him. Touching the air like it was a wall, he stepped back and looked to the floor. Jack watched him maniacally. "Damn you, kid," he shook his head.  
  
"Apocylai is our…pet," Jack said casually before he seemed to be released. He tumbled to the floor and Formal lowered his hand. Smiling, he looked up and with his seemingly glowing eyes he winked. There was a crash, and Frost landed beside Snake's 'box.'  
  
"Wedding present?" Snake joked, and the bulky man ground his teeth. Formal seemed to enjoy the comment, and Frost only wished to be closer. "Not quite," Formal answered.  
  
"FACtion's Attack Dog, you could say. The 2nd Officer Unit's guard," Frost claimed. Listening to her voice, Snake could sense the seductive tone that she used. 'FACtion,' Snake thought again. "Formal and myself are the two operatives of the 2nd Officer Unit, and Apocylai is our digital companion…something of a threat assessor."  
  
"He has all of Manhattan logged into that hunky body of his," Formal added, stepping closer to Snake and moving beside Jack who lay unconscious. "Not a gun on him, but he has a mean left hook." Frost grinned.  
  
"Could you two excuse us?" Frost asked politely. "Solid Snake and I have some…business to take care of," she said, winking. Formal nodded and cautiously removed the knives from where they waited, allowing a side of the 'box' to open. Grinning at Formal, Snake waited for Frost to near the opening before pulling forth his SOCOM and aiming it for Apocylai.  
  
He pulled the trigger. The bullet broke through the robot's giant body. Sparks flew from its interior, and as Frost stepped away, Formal closed the 'box' again. Snake turned to Formal and smiled. "Lighter fluid," he said.  
  
At that, the sparks caught the lighter fluid, and Apocylai burst into flames. Frost dove to the floor, Formal guarded his face, and Snake simply watched as the fire parted around the box that protected him. Seeing licks of blue light in the red and orange that surrounded him, he smiled and turned to Jack who lay unconscious. The parting of the flames guided them away from Jack, and as the heat died away Formal went to Frost's aid.  
  
"Colonel," Formal said as he touched his ear. "Apocylai has been destroyed…yes, sir…alive…what?!...yes, sir...thank you, sir." Formal helped Frost to her feet, and handed her the sniper rifle of hers that lay on the floor. "You are all right?" he asked, and she nodded.  
  
Turning to Snake and glaring at him, he moved the knives from Snake to himself, creating a shield as he and Frost went off. Snake SOCOM was held high, but he did not fire. 'Waste of ammo,' he thought and turned to the black scar on the floor. 'Waste of metal,' he thought again and turned away from the tall flame that remained where the robot did not.  
  
"You okay, kid?" he asked, kneeling beside Jack. There was no answer. But, slowly, his voice returned to him, and his eyes opened and closed, rapidly.  
  
"C4," he said quietly. Opening his eyes wider, and seeing Snake's confusion, he held out his hand and pointed to the ceiling. "C4…everywhere."  
  
Looking upward, and by the light of Apocylai's burning carcass, he could see small boxes installed about the ceiling. Turning back to Jack, he nodded as he rambled nonsense. "Jack…are you all right?" Snake asked, and Jack stopped talking. He looked upward in bewilderment, and then his eyes found Snake's.  
  
"He spoke through me," Jack said. Snake understood. "I felt it, though…it was…I don't know. Everything was lifted off of my shoulders…I didn't have to worry…it was like…  
  
  
  
…Weightless." 


	15. And the Sky Began to Bleed

Chapter Fifteen: And the Sky Began to Bleed  
  
  
  
"Come in!" a voice called from behind the door. Nervously, Otacon gripped the doorknob and turned it – his eyes clenched tight. "I said come in!" The voice came again, and as Otacon had nearly stopped where he was, he jumped and threw the door open in a fit of surprise.  
  
It crashed against the wall, and the man who sat at the desk jerked his head up and glared at Otacon, sporting a somewhat forced smile. Walking over to the desk, and unknowingly dropping the files he had taken with him when leaving his own office, Otacon stood at attention before the man who remained seated. His hair was gray, and his eyes were sharp enough to cut through metal. They were the color of steel. Frightening…  
  
"Otacon, if its about getting to Manhattan -," Carpell tried, but Otacon was not willing to forfeit this time.  
  
"Sir, I have the next issue of the Manhattan Resident right here. I was looking through it on my way up, and a couple of articles caught my eye." Carpell sighed, massaging his forehead in a mix of frustration and pity. "Look," Otacon said, laying the paper in front of Carpell and pointing to the front-page article. "The terrorists responsible for this morning's incident are calling themselves FACtion."  
  
Hearing the name, Carpell rested his hands on the desk and looked up to Otacon in something of surprise. Taking the paper in hand, he examined it closely and then once he had finished, held it up for Otacon to take away. "Oh," Otacon jumped. "There's one more. It should catch your interest."  
  
Flipping a few pages through it, Otacon set the paper back in front of Carpell and smiled. Proud. "They've knocked it back a day. They're dropping the warehouse tomorrow." Reading the article close, Carpell saw every reason for Otacon to be allowed entrance to Manhattan, but the longer it took for him to analyze it, the less hope Otacon saw.  
  
"Hal," Carpell began, sighing, "I can't let you go off to Manhattan! It shouldn't matter when that warehouse goes down. If you go on the front line, this entire operation could be compromised!" Looking at Otacon with a sharp concern, he smiled lightly. "We don't want that to happen now, do we?" Otacon looked at him sternly. There was no justice to the man's ruling. It was like a jury of prejudice terrorists. The people he was helping held him in a prison. 'How did I let this happen?' he thought. 'They're doing the right thing, but…now I have to give up on the others?'  
  
Otacon nodded, and from Carpell there was a relieved smile. He didn't want any complications.  
  
"Well then," he sighed, folding Otacon's paper neatly, "I guess I can expect you back in your office then?" Otacon didn't say anything, nor did he nod or shake his head. He simply smiled, snatched up his paper, and walked out the door as calmly as he ever had.  
  
"Is the verdict in?" one of the agents asked then, a smile on his face. Otacon looked down, not even acknowledging the agent's question. The smile turned into a frown. "Well, he's a tough one to crack. Come on, I'll take you back to the office."  
  
The agent was the only one waiting for Otacon. The other had disappeared to the first floor for something or other. As the two walked toward Otacon's office, their hands at their sides, there was a sort of waiting in the air. They waited…expecting the other to do something. What?  
  
"Here we are," the agent said as he stopped by the door. Otacon looked up to the door, his heart dropping into his stomach as he did. Trying to step in, he felt the weight of the agent's hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a newly sprouted smile on the agent's face. Pushing him back, and closing the door, the agent touched his ear. "Mr. Emmerich is secure."  
  
  
  
Looking up, he saw the face. That face…he had expected it almost…he had waited for it. Seeing it all, he made the analogy of a rainy day. He waited by the window, watching the rain fall until finally it stopped, and now it had stopped. The rain had stopped falling, the sun had come out, and his savior had arrived. Looking at his face once more, he was filled with relief. "Mr. Jaeger."  
  
There was a sense of humor in his voice as he spoke the name. "Are your things packed?" the man asked. Surprisingly enough he wore no bionic suit and no formal outfit. Instead, he wore a black trench coat. The collar was standing straight up, almost shielding his face, and at the bottom of his coat something seemed to be jutting outward – almost glinting as the light reached it.  
  
"I knew they didn't intend on letting you die there," Otacon smiled wide. Frank grinned in return.  
  
"That's a yes?" he asked. Otacon nodded and with that, Frank leveled his collar to his shoulders and set his outstretched hand on Otacon's back, leading him toward the elevator around the corner. "Close your eyes," he said as they turned the corner and to Otacon's horror they found a hall of crimson walls and stained carpet that appeared brown in the mix of red and blue.  
  
Otacon was appalled, but hid his disapproval behind his hands that had found their way to his face, shielding him from the disgusting sight. Frank frowned as he passed the upturned bodies, their stomachs slit open and their throats torn out. Shaking his head and guiding Otacon down the hall, he stopped and pressed the small yellow button beside the elevator doors.  
  
The stale stench of blood lingered in the air, and as they waited for the elevator to approach them Otacon held his nose tight, peeking through the reflection in his glasses to see the terrible picture behind him. The blood. Everywhere.  
  
The elevator doors slid aside and giving Otacon a slight push, Frank moved into the compartment, pushing the button that requested the parking garage. Silence ensued as soon as the elevator began its descent, and even through the gore of the last hall Otacon was more concerned regarding Frank's presence alone.  
  
"Three shots in my back, and it still kept me alive…long enough for 'him' to come," Frank stated, sensing Otacon's eagerness for an explanation.  
  
"Long enough for who?" Otacon questioned fervently. Frank's head cocked to the side, and he grinned. "Neither friend or enemy," he said, and the elevator bounced a little as doors behind them slid open, revealing the tainted gray garage. Turning, the two of them looked at each other for a moment, not thinking they'd ever be so close after Hell's Outpost. But…they were there.  
  
"Which one's yours?" Frank asked, and Otacon looked at him peculiarly.  
  
"Why don't we take yours?" he asked.  
  
"I don't need wheels to get around," he grinned, and Otacon pulled a gadget from his deep lab coat pocket. Pushing the 'Unlock' button, there was a honk and a set of tailgates lit up ahead of them – at the opposite end of the level.  
  
Stepping out of the elevator, the doors closing behind them, the two walked rigidly through the parking garage. Frank's eyes were set on Otacon's white Dodge Caravan, but Otacon's eyes were set on Frank. 'WOW,' he thought, his hands shaking. 'How'd he make it?!' Even more surprising than the return from Shadow Moses, Otacon had a hard time comprehending Frank's unnatural presence.  
  
The small orange lights that hardly lit the garage flickered on and off as the two came up on the van, Otacon moving to the driver's side and inserting his key in the door. Frank's eyes wandered as they stood there, and the moment seemed to turn hot. The sun moved out from behind a long cloud, and a cool breeze swept around him, over his shoulders, under his arms…and then something snapped like a baby's first toy. It tore like a long-loved blanket, and shattered like winter-touched glass. "Freeze!" was the call, and as there was a scamper of boots on the cement floor of the parking garage, the sun hid behind another cloud…hiding its shameful face from the heavy eyes of the deceived. "Hands above your head!"  
  
Soldiers came out from behind the cars around them, and from within Otacon's van, their arms cradling seemingly identical weapons: 9mm handguns and M4 Assault Rifles. Some carried shotguns, and one or two were armed with grenade launchers. All were bound with Kevlar and equipped with nanomachines.  
  
"On your knees!" they cried, forcing Otacon and Frank onto their knees unwillingly. As the crowd of soldiers stripped them of their coats and Frank of his sword, there was a ring from the opposite end of the garage. The elevator opened, and heralded by a horde of light armed UFAC agents came a man in full platoon camouflage, a colonel's formal jacket slung over his back and loosely clinging his shoulders.  
  
Frank and Otacon exchanged looks of concern, but both shared anger in their eyes, something that Otacon rarely possessed. Two soldiers stood behind Otacon, and two behind Frank as the man from the elevator made his way toward them. He was not smiling. Nor was he grinning. He was looking somewhat amused, but acted as if the situation was more painful for him than for the two on their knees.  
  
Watching his own boots as he walked, he stopped before the two men, and the soldiers who had stood around him moved to form a circle around the entire area. Lifting his military hat from his head, he raked his hand through his hair, sighing. "Well," he said, striking Otacon's nerve as he spoke, "it seems we meet again…under such harsh conditions it almost seems unwillingly so." The voice was scratchy, but one that Otacon could never forget even having only heard it a few times.  
  
Looking up at the man, he swallowed hard and went deathly pale. The sun hid itself entirely, and the sky seemed to shake. It had betrayed them…deceived them with its bright glow.  
  
The sun began to shudder and the sky began to bleed…  
  
  
  
"Colonel Campbell?!" 


	16. The American Dream

Chapter Sixteen: The American Dream  
  
  
  
"I don't enjoy this any more than you, Otacon," the Colonel answered. Nodding to one of the soldiers who stood in their midst, he waited as a collapsible chair was set before him. Taking a seat and draping his military jacket over the back of it, he rested his face in his hands. He did not look up, even as he continued to speak. "And it's certainly not something I wanted Snake to go through, but…there are things I have to tell you."  
  
Otacon looked at him, not believing the pitiful condition that the Colonel portrayed so well. Raising his face out of his hands and shaking his head in something of disbelief, he turned his gaze up to Otacon and put on no smile. He wore a stern expression, but in the dark shade of the coming clouds that eliminated the heat from the moment, it seemed almost unhappy. Like a frown.  
  
"The Universal Freedoms Activists Council is an organization that exists only in the past," the Colonel began, trying to fight back the feelings of sorrow that lurked beneath his heart. "When the Cold War was pulled under the magnifying glass and recognized by the entire world as a potential global threat, the United States began investigations behind enemy lines. The plan was codenamed 'The A-Objective,' after the word amalgamate, which means to integrate or to blend in.  
  
"Over the first two years, they managed to uncover miles of conspiracies linked to the events prior and during the Cold War. Information about Russia's top-secret 'Cold War Project' was scavenged from the cities, but it paled in comparison to the more," he paused, searching for the right word, "exciting story." He sighed heavily, and looked at the floor to compose himself before moving on.  
  
"They found records regarding the Patriots. While the Red Scare was bringing chaos and social disorder to our 'government,' Russia was cooperating with several world-renowned corporations in hopes of securing an all-powerful military offense. It wasn't until the late 1970's that the Russians caught on to the A-Objective of the United States government.  
  
"Following the unwelcome discovery of American agents in Russia, many of those involved in the A-Objective were weeded out. When news of the United States' tactics circulated to other countries, we began to see a rise in terrorist activity hitting home. That was around the time the data retrieved in A-Objective was finally analyzed the hundreds of times it was needed, and truth was told.  
  
"At the conclusion of a complicated information struggle, the results of A- Objective had been circulated through several nations' governments, and a conference was held between members of every one to discuss their findings. With the truth of the Patriots unveiled to the unknowing sponsors of many political events and campaigns, the information began to work its way into the higher ranks. When the government of nearly every world power had complete knowledge of the situation, the UFAC was established. That was in 1983.  
  
"Up until the incident less than a year ago at Hell's Outpost, they were going strong. After having submitted an inside agent to the enemy lineup and having lost contact with that agent for more than a month, their cover was blown and the Patriot's network effectively shut the program down. That, as I said, was less than a year ago." Otacon looked at him – still confused.  
  
"So, who are you?" Frank asked, breaking the stunning silence. The Colonel shook his head and forced a smile.  
  
"I'm the same person as I was four years ago. Colonel Roy Campbell. But, this organization is NOT the UFAC. The UFAC was dedicated to putting an end to the Patriot's network without making public allegations or threats. Just after the UFAC had been set in stone and made an official organization, several representatives left it, seeing the war against the Patriot to be an interminable one. They formed the organization known as FACtion – the very team that has taken control of Manhattan…and the very team that you work for." That last statement drew Otacon's gaze over the Colonel once more. 'No,' he thought, but it was all more real than he could understand.  
  
"FACtion is not an official organization, but is instead a conglomeration of renegade representatives formerly belonging to the UFAC. Both corporations were fairly similar, but FACtion proved to be the 'big brother' of sorts. It has made it its duty to put an end to the Patriot's network at all costs. It is just as innocent as the UFAC. The only difference is its dedication.  
  
"Would you be willing to freeze all of society in a heartbeat if it meant the long-term prosper of a re-instated working government? It wouldn't be a hoax or some political act meant only to entertain and satisfy, but a government true to the beliefs stated in the Declaration of the Independence, along with the Constitution. That is the government we're working toward rebuilding, and we will stop at nothing to fulfill the American dream."  
  
"You've taken a city of over a million people hostage," Frank interjected. "That's terrorism." The Colonel had expected a reply similar to that, but shook his head and chuckled to himself.  
  
"A non-violent organization can't even make a dent in the Patriot's infrastructure," the Colonel answered. "Its taken the sacrifice of thousands for us to even realize that the Patriots existed, and you deny us the right to take a dozen in the pursuit of freedom?" Otacon nodded, subtly and the Colonel mounted his hands on his thighs, pushing his back against the back of the chair and yawning. "Otacon," he said, "I expected your disapproval, but cant you see past the numbers lost and realize the numbers that will be saved? The Patriot runs a Dictatorship, and like Hitler and Mussolini with their Fascist empires, he eliminates all potential threats with the wave of a hand. He is defying everything that makes us Americans, and you are defying those very same rights by restricting our voice and our action."  
  
Otacon shook his head violently as Frank tested the guards by scratching his shoulder with his scruffy chin. They jumped. "All of Manhattan," Otacon breathed, trying to make sense of it all, and trying to find justification for the Colonel's actions, but even as there was the obvious goal of freedom it didn't satisfy Otacon's thirst for understanding. "You've taken complete control of Manhattan, and put Snake and Jack and me in harm's way for yourselves?" The Colonel seemed apologetic. "If there was nothing wrong with FACtion, why would you need to deceive us? Why wouldn't we join you anyway?" The Colonel was quick to an answer, but it shook the heavens.  
  
"You've lost sight of freedom, Otacon," the Colonel exclaimed, leaning toward the two again. Otacon was furious. "You thought that the United States and all of the world was free, but after learning about the Patriots – and the Patriot – you felt too disconnected. You've been searching for some sort of sign all along, but you haven't gotten it." He paused, massaging his forehead. "And now you've forgotten the price of freedom. You think that it's an easily achieved prize, but that isn't it at all. When this nation was formed, thousands lost their lives to support this freedom, and you are not willing to let a mere dozen more – at most – fall with them, even if it means the revival of order throughout the entire world."  
  
Otacon was frozen. He was frozen right there. Somehow, though he wanted to fight it, he knew that what the Colonel said was true. He had lost sight of his objective and had plummeted into a pit of denial. For several years he had been working to restore order, but without sacrifice it can't be done. But then, something struck him. It conquered even the Colonel's statement. He inhaled.  
  
"Those sacrifices…were they not voluntary?" The Colonel was frozen. He was frozen right there. Somehow, though he wanted to fight it, he knew that what Otacon said was true. But, he was in no position to debate the course of action now. He was working beneath several others, and his voice would only be silenced by the wave of a hand and the pull of a trigger.  
  
"Move them back into the building," the Colonel said as he stood and draped his military jacket over his shoulders. "I will report their condition to Him." The soldiers all approved, and before turning away the Colonel saluted Otacon and Frank. With no verbal or physical gesture to stand as a response, he frowned and then started toward the elevator, heralded by a number of military units.  
  
"The American dream?" Otacon asked, sending a cold breeze through the garage and stopping the Colonel where he stood. Waiting, Otacon watched as the Colonel turned back to him, a serious expression taking place of his once humorous sense.  
  
"The American dream," he confirmed, and then he turned away and left them in silence, in refreshing wind, and in a shadow. To himself, he uttered the words again, only so that he could hear them. He did it…almost as if it was an evaluation, or a final take on the situation. He was putting himself to the test as he said it, and all of his goals, morals, and values were laid out before the court of his own being.  
  
"The American dream?" he asked, sighing. And he disappeared into the elevator, requesting sole admittance. As the doors closed on the scene Otacon's eyes met with his. Both of them were right in a sense, and while their routes were different, their goal was the same:  
  
To fulfill the American dream.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For a while I've been a little worried about whether or not people are actually continuing to read this fanfiction. Please, if you are reading this, review this chapter. If it's the only time that you EVER review something, I don't care. I just need to know that I haven't lost all of my old fans. So please, review if you would be so kind. Thank you -espresso d gecko 


	17. The Rush

Chapter Seventeen: The Rush  
  
  
  
"Throw 'em in here!" one of the soldiers cried, gesturing toward the room on their right with his arm. Two agents guided Frank and Otacon down the hall, their hands tight on their upper arms. They shook their heads with the other's order.  
  
"The Colonel wants him over here," one of the two agents returned, pointing to a door on their left. Smashing Otacon and Frank against the wall, one of the men reached for his waist but upon finding no ring of keys, another agent pushed the door and they watched it creak open. Unlocked.  
  
"Get in there!" they yelled, grabbing hold of their collars and flinging them into the room before closing the door and moving a chair under the door knob. After having assigned four men to the hall, the rest retreated to other areas of the building. A peculiar silence filled the air.  
  
Otacon pushed himself onto his feet, but Frank remained on his back – his body sprawled about the blue carpet. Thinking, his fingers tapping his sweaty forehead, Otacon paced across the room in a fit of nervousness – his mind racing. Eventually, he stopped where he was and shot a quick look around the entire room. A small table sat in the center of the room – one chair beside it – and beside that it was fairly normal. "That wall," he started, seeing a pale discoloration of the right wall of the room.  
  
Frank's gaze turned to the wall he had pointed out, and as he did he saw something strapped beneath the table. Moving onto his knees, he pulled an envelope from the underbelly of the table and opened it. Pulling a slip of paper and a disc from its depths, he read the slip of paper. "'You've got my vote,'" it said. Looking at the disc, he heard something slide behind him and moved onto his feet before turning to see the wall of the room slid aside like a giant closet door. There, exposed by the absence of the wall's cover, was a computer.  
  
"That's what this is for, then," Frank said as he held the disc up for Otacon to see. Quickly, pulling the chair from the table in the center of the room, Otacon took a seat in front of the computer and Frank stepped over to him. He stood behind him and watched as the computer was booted up, the 'tower' squealing and talking to them as the cable line was tapped into. When the desktop had appeared, the Internet was enabled, and the CD- ROM drive was open and ready for their disc.  
  
Otacon dropped it into the tray, and forced it back into the computer.  
  
A few levers turned, circuits were charged, and fans turned on. The cursor on the screen morphed into an old-fashioned alarm clock as a traditional Startup menu appeared. Otacon clicked through the windows, and the two waited and watched as the disc's contents were loaded to the computer's hard drive.  
  
Otacon's hands were in his hair.  
  
Frank's fingers played a tune on the back of the chair.  
  
The moment was cold…silent.  
  
'Done.' A window appeared at the conclusion of the installation and just as Otacon moved the cursor over the 'OK' button and pressed down on the mouse a number of windows popped onto the screen. Among them was a detailed map of Manhattan that was completely identical to the one The Customer or The Sir had used from the safety of the coffee shop. Another window was an IntraComm 'Buddy list' of sorts, and just as Otacon was about to click it away a message appeared on the screen.  
  
'USER (CRC001): Stay on-line,' it requested, 'This disc is a slight alteration of the software FACtion is using to conduct the operations. It takes a certain amount of programming skill, but you should be able to handle it.'  
  
Just then, Otacon heard a distant beep somewhere in his head, and he touched his ear eagerly. "Hello? Snake?" he questioned immediately.  
  
"No. Me," the voice answered. The Colonel. Otacon sneered at him. "Listen, Otacon. This software will give you full access to the activities of FACtion through the entirety of their mission. Like I said, it will take some time to master it but it should help."  
  
Otacon was puzzled. "You talk about FACtion like you're no longer a part of it," he insisted, and the Colonel's voice returned following a distressed sigh.  
  
"Just take the disc and get out of there. I'm doing you a favor."  
  
"What about the guards?" Frank asked, touching his ear and continuing the conversation on Codec.  
  
"Gray Fox, right? You can handle them. Your sword is in the next room to your left. I used the keys to the room your in and left it unlocked. They've probably moved something in front of the door, but whatever it is you can move it out of the way."  
  
"And until we get my sword…?" Frank questioned.  
  
"I'll try to clear as many agents as I can, but hand-to-hand combat will be your only tool against those that remain. They wont shoot either of you. Otacon, if you die Snake and Jack will know that something is wrong. And if you die, Frank, FACtion will have miss out on one fabulous recruiting opportunity."  
  
"Sorry," Frank announced. "I'm all ready employed." The Colonel seemed half- amused by Frank's quick remark.  
  
"Good luck," the Colonel ended. "Oh, Otacon?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Tell Snake I'm sorry," he replied. Otacon nodded and the transmission was closed. Peering over his shoulder at Frank, he removed the disc from the computer and pocketed it.  
  
"Well, Frank, I'm no fighter," Otacon began.  
  
"Fox," Frank interrupted. Otacon looked at him uneasily. "Fox?"  
  
"Call me Fox. Frank is a name of the past...he died years ago, along with my innocence." Otacon nodded. "And don't worry. I'll take care of the guards if you can get my sword."  
  
Otacon forced a smile – a weak one – and then retreated to the opposite side of the room where he watched the seemingly rippled contours of the wall. He wasn't nervous, really. With Fox by his side, nothing quite seemed a challenge. Sure, he didn't particularly 'know' the mysterious ninja-like character, but he knew his skills. They were brutal but necessary.  
  
"You are okay?" he asked Otacon. Following a hesitating silence, a nod of reassurance sufficed, and Otacon turned to Fox with a new expression. It was not one of fear, or nervousness, or of pride or courage…but a simple willingness. He was ready – not struck with fear or filled with honor – but he was ready, and for Snake…for Jack…for the freedom and the fulfillment of the 'American Dream,' he would fight.  
  
Fox managed some sort of dance as he seemed to glide above the floor. Resting his hand on the doorknob and even waving eloquently, Otacon hurried over and examined the door as if he was taking down measurements for wallpaper. "Ram," Fox said, and Otacon's eyes swung to him in a desperate fashion. He knew what Fox had meant by 'ram' and he was not enthused.  
  
Reluctantly, Otacon took several steps back, and continued to clench and unclench his fists as he stared down the door like a bull in the center of a dusty arena. Arching his back and folding his body closer to the floor, he inhaled deeply.  
  
'Tired. Silence. Time. Think. Don't think. Just go. No! No. Stay where you – move, Otacon! Stop! More time. You need more time. Just think. Quiet. Silent. Time. Tired…GO!'  
  
Otacon started into a run just as there was a grinding noise beyond the door. His heart seemed to skip a beat and he bolted through the wood of the door with unprecedented strength. His feet left the floor. His elbows crossed before his face. The wood shattered. A chair collapsed under his force, and with the unexpected action, Fox had appeared amidst the lingering dust – standing before three formally-clothed agents. Otacon was on the floor, still.  
  
Shooting Otacon a sharp look, he got the message. 'My sword!' he cried within, and Otacon's heavy eyelids parted just as they needed to take it in. Nodding warily, he stumbled to his feet – oblivious to the catapulting of an agent and the heavy forceful blows that were traded between Fox and the remaining two.  
  
"Yea," Otacon told himself, under of what he was thinking at the moment. His glasses were not broken, nor were they scathed at all, but they were dangling from his right ear. He didn't suspect a thing, for he expected his sight to be as blurry as it was. The only time he'd seen someone truly blow through a door was on a movie set or when he was on a mission with Snake…but he'd never experienced it. The rush.  
  
Proceeding into the room left of their previous confinement, Otacon found an open door and an empty room. 'I'll try to clear as many agents as I can,' he remembered the Colonel stating. It was a good thing too – that there were no agents left standing in his way – for if it were any different he wouldn't have had the strength to fight…but the rush.  
  
He found the sword laying sheathed on the room's sole desk. It seemed he had just wrapped his hands around it that he was in the hall again. And by that time, it was unsheathed and had brought the silent touch of death to two agents. The other was knocked out and far from returning to consciousness. Otacon was in an odd state of awe, and all that he could focus on was the blade that shimmered in Fox's tight grip.  
  
Looking at him, Fox grinned and sheathed his blade before slinging it over his shoulder to rest. "Nice," he said rather simplistically and then he started down the hall, stopping only to assess Otacon's frozen stance. "Coming?" he asked, but there was no physical gesture to portray Otacon's deep mental involvement.  
  
But then life was restored to him and he was no longer idle, but walking beside Fox as if nothing had happened, and Fox looked ahead as if nothing had happened.  
  
"It's the rush," Fox voiced calmly, catching Otacon's attention, as they stopped at the end of the hall – the wall no more than a glass barrier. "I know. I've felt it too…against Snake it is impossible to ignore. And believe me," he paused, pulling forth his sword and holding it at his side, "you'll feel it again."  
  
Then, in a blur, a design of gashes formed in the glass and Fox grabbed Otacon around the waist. Nodding to him subtly, he smiled…and then there was a shatter, and the rush of wind…the rush of feeling…the rush of life.  
  
  
  
The rush... 


	18. A Premeditated Infection

Chapter Eighteen: A Premeditated Infection  
  
  
  
It was startling – the sudden jolt in his chest. All the wind seemed to blast to a halt and the shattering growl of the air against his ears fell silent. And a moment after it had all ceased, he felt the ground beneath him and he turned to Fox who pulled open his trench coat to reveal a small gadget on his belt. 'Z-Force?' Otacon thought to himself, remembering the Dead Drop Snake had been forced to utilize during the infiltration of Hell's Outpost. 'He was right,' he thought, 'that was certainly not comfortable,' but it was a much softer landing than the one Snake had been put through, as the technology had obviously advanced in recent months. Its more compact design was also a noticeable difference.  
  
Not uttering a single word, Fox let go of Otacon and let him find his balance before gesturing his head to the left and speeding into the middle of the street where the cars had stopped – all watching the unbelievable event. Otacon was quick to his feet, but did not attempt to follow, seeing the situation dangerous.  
  
Stopping before an old Explorer, Fox held out his hand, signaling the driver to stop, and even though he wasn't moving at the time Fox surely didn't want him to start as he stood there. To his disapproval, there came a vulgar flip of the finger from within the vehicle. He retaliated by raising his sword into the air, letting it glow in the sunlight.  
  
Then, just seconds later, there came a yelp from within the vehicle as the man quickly threw open the door and spun onto his feet; racing to the opposite side of the street in fear. Otacon hurried over to Fox, a confident sternness in his eyes. With the disruption of an odd silence, there was a series of cries from the West City Bank as soldiers swarmed the sidewalk and began to weave in and out of the halted vehicles, all hesitating to go any closer or to fire their weapons.  
  
Fox turned to them and grinned. "Get in," he said calmly to Otacon. Hesitating, Otacon wretched open the passenger door and hopped inside – immediately strapping himself in with a seat belt. "Give my regards to the Colonel," Fox announced then, and tipped his hand as if to wave.  
  
Taking a seat behind the wheel and closing the all ready ajar door, Fox turned to Otacon and winced as three soldiers moved in front of the vehicle. "There's no other way out of this," he said aloud, and Otacon nodded, slumped down in his seat, and covered his eyes.  
  
Fox put his foot on the gas and the Explorer hesitated, scorching the pavement. Then, it started forward and the three soldiers disappeared. There was a loud 'thump' as they went on, and Otacon cringed as he heard it and felt it, but it was nothing more than an assault rifle. All three soldiers amazingly possessed the sense to move out of the way.  
  
"What are we doing?!" Otacon cried as he sat up in his seat. Just then, everything he had done caught up with him and he was overtaken by the madness of it all. Fox didn't answer for a while. He was too busy maneuvering the vehicle through the mess of cars and trucks that was before them. "You wanted to get to Manhattan," he proclaimed, straightening his collar that stood upward. Otacon looked at him insanely, and braced the edges of his seat. He thought deeply.  
  
"Right," he finally said, putting his hand to his ear. There was a moment of hesitation, and Fox seemed to eye him strangely, but when the noises died away a welcome voice found its way to Otacon.  
  
"Otacon?" it asked, jittery. He smiled.  
  
"Mei Ling," he confirmed. Blinking several times, he ran his hand through his hair and pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose. "I'm initiating Plan B."  
  
"What?" she asked, hurriedly. "Well…why?"  
  
"I'll tell you more later," Otacon replied. "Can you be at Battery Park?"  
  
"What time?"  
  
"Now," he answered. "I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
"But…aren't you over the bridge?" she seemed concerned, and no doubt she was.  
  
"Don't worry. Just, can you be there?"  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"Yes," she assured him. "Yes, I can be there." Otacon sighed, and nodded to himself.  
  
"Contact Naomi," he requested. "And I'll see you soon?" She nodded.  
  
"Wait!" she cried, just before he was about to end the transmission. "Yes?" he asked, preoccupied.  
  
"What is this about?" Otacon didn't know what to say. He paused.  
  
"I was blind," he muttered, almost oblivious to her presence now. "I was blind…dammit!"  
  
"Otacon?" Mei Ling urged, trying to get more information from him. She was afraid.  
  
"Battery park, Mei Ling," he repeated. "Get there!" And with that, the transmission ended and Fox turned the corner sharply, sending Otacon into the door. Peering over the dashboard, he saw a bridge only a couple of streets away. They were almost there…almost there.  
  
  
  
"He will not deploy the 2nd Officer's Unit until the Six Points are on their way," a voice came. It was synthesized…disguised.  
  
Ocelot was in his chair, reclined with his feet on the desk where the Compilation sat. He seemed bored, but with the news the other voice brought, he sat forward and dropped his feet to the floor. Touching his ear as if to sharpen the clarity, he grinned. "He's being stubborn?"  
  
"Cautious," the voice returned again. "It looks like we struck a nerve. Your friend appeared right on cue." Ocelot smiled more maliciously than before, and he reclined a little in satisfaction.  
  
"He took the bait," Ocelot commented. "Good…I'll arrange the Six Points' arrival. No doubt, your boss will see it?"  
  
"No doubt," the synthesized cloak returned.  
  
"Good…it is a disappointment to see that the Apocylai failed. You will have to be more cautious now."  
  
"Yes sir," the voice answered. At that, footsteps began to echo through the cavernous warehouse, and Ocelot turned in his chair to see a shady figure before him. Touching his ear, and turned back to the Compilation. "I have a visitor."  
  
"I will speak with you again, soon?"  
  
"Of course," Ocelot confirmed, and without any proper 'good-bye' he had ended the transmission. He turned back, his grin fading to a discerning frown as he faced the 'visitor.' Only the light that stood over the Compilation remained on, leaving the figure in the shadows.  
  
"Tintern Abbey," the voice called. It was that of a female. Seductive. Not whimsical…but sexy.  
  
"Do you have the package?" he asked, and there was a nod in the darkness as her hand went forward. There was a small box, the size of one that held a pair of earrings, in her hand. Ocelot had one hand ready on his revolver while the other snatched it away from her. "You will have your place beside me," he said as he popped the lid of the box and examined what lay within.  
  
"If you make one false move, Ocelot, I will kill you," Tintern claimed. Ocelot grinned wildly, and set the box on his desk before turning back to the Compilation.  
  
"Dear Tintern, there is no reason to be suspicious of me," he proclaimed. "You will be rewarded for your assistance." There was silence. "Waiting for something else?"  
  
"Of course not," she finally said, and she turned on her heel and heading out of the room.  
  
"Oh, and Tintern," Ocelot called. She stopped. "Is your agent in place?"  
  
"He should be by now," she answered.  
  
"Good," he smiled. "It's like a disease…only intentional. Hah! A premeditated infection." And Tintern was gone, leaving Ocelot to his sanctuary. 


	19. The Bridge Was Lost Awake

Chapter Nineteen: The Bridge Was Lost Awake  
  
  
  
Were Otacon to recall the moments that followed, he would remember them only as dreams…a confused jumble of thoughts and whimsical images. He couldn't put it down like a story on paper. It was so much more than that, but as he thought about it later, he saw it all in a haze…a mesh of colors and emotions. Everything was chaos. Everything was hectic…  
  
'There was Silence.  
  
There was Stillness.  
  
There was Fright here and there.  
  
There was Burning,  
  
There was Yearning,  
  
There was Courage in the air.  
  
And in the Midst there came Something,  
  
Without Worries or any One fear.  
  
It stepped Out like a Brave, Bright ant,  
  
Oblivious to the fate that Lay near.  
  
And as a being called Forward,  
  
It's voice dark, Scratchy, and Scared.  
  
The Something did Not slow,  
  
But continued – he'd been Dared.  
  
But then there was a Hell-born cry,  
  
And a Whip of wind-swept Air.  
  
And when the Smoke was Swept aside,  
  
The Something was left Bare.  
  
There was no single mark or scathe,  
  
Not a shuddering, quivering stance.  
  
Only where the Something had Once stood,  
  
Was a lifeless opponent's Glance.  
  
And as the World watched – Surprised,  
  
Two figures Walked away.  
  
The Something and Another,  
  
Were en route to Heaven's Day.  
  
And in that Next one moment,  
  
All the Crowd had Found its faith.  
  
And with The sound of rebel-cries,  
  
The Bridge was Lost awake.'  
  
…but more than hectic…everything was beautiful. The fearless hearts that rose with the spark of his companion's courage. It would be a poetic masterpiece of the will of the people and their determination. They would not let Manhattan fall to intruders, and as they pulled forth their guns and their fists, they took what was left of the bridge. That bridge was lost awake…clear to the sight of all, and with it, the spark of retaliation spread like an infection almost.  
  
And at the start of it all…at the start of the uprising that would captivate Manhattan and overturn the balance of FACtion's once sturdy threat…was the event no one would forget.  
  
  
  
"Sir?" a voice called. The Customer sat at attention.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, expecting some grand news, but there was none.  
  
"Sir…erm…a bridge…it was lost…Awake."  
  
Silence.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I felt this scene would be best portrayed as a poetic piece. Why? Well, Otacon's own memory of the moment can tell you that, and if I were to interpret it - line by line – what sense would that make? So, if you aren't sure about this poem, ask another reader. And please, I would very much enjoy a review of this addition. Thanks. Ciao! 


	20. In Each Other's Company

Chapter Twenty: In Each Other's Company  
  
  
  
"At Battery Park," Snake remembered Otacon telling him before the shots were fired on the bridge. "Head there as soon as possible!" Right then, there was a loud uproar of…voices, Snake thought they might have been, but the roaring was abruptly halted only moments later when the transmission died, and the silence ensued. He had cursed the Heavens, but discarded his frustrations and quickly set off for Battery Park – some distance south of where he and Jack were positioned at the toy store.  
  
The wind swept past their ears, crackling like a thousand nuclear explosions just inches away. 'Keep up,' Jack told himself, seeing that Snake had taken a significant lead on him. He had started off running just as the past transmission went silent, and Jack – who still didn't know what as happening – followed. And as he did, he saw the strangest, most foreign sights: the streets were rapidly filling with people.  
  
A helicopter passed overhead, drawing the attention of both Snake and Jack. They stopped, their hearts nearly busting through their chests and their eyes on the dark object as it flew about. Examining it, they saw bullet- holes in its hull and through the glass, and blood stains across its body. The two exchanged apprehensive glances and Snake jogged over to Jack, putting his hand on his shoulder. He looked at him somewhat unfortunately.  
  
"Jack," he started, taking a gulp of air and concentrating on the sidewalk, "can you take care of this?" Jack looked at him, baffled.  
  
"What?! Take care of what?! How the hell should I even know what's going on?!" He cracked. Snake tried to speak, but Jack never let an opportunity pass him by…not any longer. "I can take a lot of your crap, Snake, but I can't keep going out on a whim for you! You want blind loyalty, some sort of unquestioned obedience, but I need to be informed!"  
  
Snake took Jack's reaction hard. "It's a little hard – juggling the things that I do," he breathed. There was a moment of silence as he worked to compose himself. "Otacon wants us to meet him at Battery Park. The transmission went dead. And now, this chopper is hanging around and people are waving their hands in the air like they're bidding on their lives. Maybe I ask too much of you, but to a certain extent, I NEED your help. We can't always be fighting on the same battlefield."  
  
"I care as much about Otacon as you, Snake, but –"  
  
"No!" Snake cried, gripping the excess of material around Jack's collarbone, and pulling his face close. "You're just another field agent – here today, gone tomorrow. Otacon was here yesterday – he was here before you. You don't take his place, and you DON'T take mine. Got it?!"  
  
Jack's eyes were not on Snake. They had wandered far off…had left even this world, but his ears remained attentive. He heard everything Snake said…and then shrugged his grip loose. "So I'm dead, Snake? 'Just another field agent – here today, gone tomorrow'?" Jack shook his head defiantly. "I learned, just like you, that emotion is key to surviving any mission like this, but you fouled up a long time ago when you started 'caring' for Otacon. You do your part and he does his. You can't risk thousands…or millions of lives because you're afraid for him!"  
  
Snake didn't answer. But his stare…his gaze…it was strong and weak, penetrating and feeble.  
  
"Here," Jack said finally, setting two shimmering objects in Snake's palm. Looking down at them, Snake saw exactly what they were.  
  
"Dog tags?" he asked, seeing 'Raiden' printed on them.  
  
"Consider this my resignation from Philanthropy," Jack answered, returning a dignified glare. "You want Raiden…not Jack." Sending Snake one last sting of anger, he turned away. "Raiden was the rookie," he muttered, and the cries of the people and the chattering of the helicopter above briskly demolished the silence that had procured the moment.  
  
Jack went off then, almost as if he had something to do but he had nothing. Snake, though, had stood there. He let the wind swim over him, and felt a cool breeze beat the competition out of the heat. And there, the moment felt so bittersweet. There was that sigh of relief in the wind, one that came with great welcoming, but with its repose had come the loss of a partner…had come the loss of a friend.  
  
  
  
"This is Manhattan News," a voice broke onto the radio, interrupting a previous rendition of 'When a Man Loves a Woman.' Naomi, who sat at the wheel, stuck in a horde of traffic and surrounded by rioters, turned the volume as high as she could without busting her eardrums. "Just moments ago, the Triborough Bridge – from Randall's Island to Manhattan Island – was assaulted by citizens on either side of its landing on Manhattan Island. Apparently, the raid was sparked by a 'sword-wielding' figure who entered Manhattan with another who has been identified as a one Hal Emmerich."  
  
'Frank?!' Naomi cried within, and with a rambunctious holler from the crowds, she turned the volume louder.  
  
"Six 'FACtion-employed' soldiers have been recovered from the assault, battered and beaten after being shot by varying sorts of weapons that officials suspect are being carried by the civilians involved in this incident. Two pilots were able to retreat from the bridge, using an Iroquois helicopter as their get-away vehicle.  
  
"As a result, in only the past few minutes, the entirety of Manhattan has found courage that had once lay dormant. Many have left their homes and have gone to the streets with the intentions of confronting those soldiers that remain in control of the island." There was an abrupt stall in the broadcasting, and a click meant the switching of transmissions.  
  
Naomi watched the crowds moving eerily through the streets, and as another voice was amplified on the radio, she shivered. "I apologize for interrupting this broadcasting of the Manhattan News." It was so familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "All stations will be reverted to a secondary signal running on an international level. This change is for security reasons, and please…stay strong."  
  
There was another click as the signal changed again. After a moment of hesitation, another station filled Naomi's ears, blasting her ears into oblivion as a voice rocked the car. Fitfully turning down the volume and cupping her ears, she tried to listen for continuing announcements, but when she heard the new broadcaster's voice rise, she sensed its stability. "Today is an example of how summer is supposed to be," a woman said.  
  
'An international broadcasting station,' she pondered. "Damn! The world's in the dark," she exclaimed, hitting the steering wheel with the blunt of her wrist. And she understood then.  
  
  
  
Naomi had abandoned her car in the midst of the rioting pools of civilians many blocks back, and was on foot. In the crook of her arm she held a small radio, and its headphones were slipped over her ears as she carried a laptop in her other hand. Listening closely to the words of the broadcasting woman, after the station had been 'overthrown' she slid her headphones around the back of her neck and massaged her forehead.  
  
She knew, just as Naomi, what was happening. All of Manhattan had been seized in the early morning, but not only were family members cut off from families outside of the city, the media had been censored. With the switch to the international broadcasting, Naomi – as well as herself – had realized that no one but those who were in Manhattan knew of the events that had conspired. Someone was controlling the paper, the radio…everything. But more baffling than anything else…they were trying to deceive even the people of Manhattan.  
  
Why?  
  
She turned her head upward and saw, at the end of her street, Battery Park.  
  
  
  
Otacon and Grey Fox had been left without transportation since reaching the Triborough Bridge, but had not needed to walk a great distance to reach Battery Park. Both of them were worn – Otacon more than Fox – but both of them were as lively as ever. The cool breeze that began to whip about them like wisps of satiny hair revitalized them, and restored their energy even in the wake of their past involvements.  
  
Still, even with the faint presence of renewal, they were unable to run. Their legs had tightened with the walking, and the rebel-cries had shattered their eardrums and left them useless to detecting any sounds. But, neither of them was necessarily weak and they would not give up. Snake, Jack, Naomi, Mei Ling…they, along with all the people of Manhattan, lay in their hands. The uprising would win against a number of armed soldiers, but it would certainly not prevail if the initial biological threat held true, or if a nuclear possibility was evident.  
  
Fox suspected something more than a hundred soldiers…he suspected something more… "They've got a trump card," he said aloud, catching Otacon's undivided attention. "FACtion. If they thought that they could seize a city of this size, and keep control of it for longer than even an hour, they were mistaken."  
  
Otacon nodded. "They must have expected something like this," he suggested. "But…maybe they expected something more."  
  
"Prepared for the Catfish, but only reeled in the Blue Gale?" Fox added.  
  
"No…I think they're ready for anything, just…maybe this is part of their plan. What if they were 'provoking' the uprising? There has to be more to it. They haven't even given any demands besides the city's compliance." Fox nodded.  
  
Before they were able to continue their conversation, they were facing the green grasses of Battery Park. In the distance, beyond the sparsely covered areas, sat giant Ferris Wheels and towering amusement rides. The sight, brought Otacon back to reality. He had almost forgotten that the day was July 4th, and as the images of the past years' Independence Day celebrations, he found himself on duty for the majority of them.  
  
He hadn't been able to experience the festivities for many years. Since he was a child, his celebration consisted of no more than one glass of generic Ginger Ale – his 'bubbly' substitute. The saddest part was that he spent each one alone, not even with Snake. If they were on a mission, he was always secluded and unable to help. He watched…and all he saw was a worthless dot of color. That was how he came to recognize Snake.  
  
"We'll need to make contact with the Colonel," Otacon stated rather abruptly. Grey Fox shook his head, and quickly shot down the idea.  
  
"We can't trust him," he said. "Not yet, at least. Figure out that program, and look in on them. That will be enough for now." Otacon nodded, acceptingly. He would put up an argument if there were any rational chances of winning, but with Fox he knew he had all ready lost. Besides, Fox was right. The Colonel was still a questionable character.  
  
Stopping in a location where they could see up three streets at once, Fox turned to the distant streets and Otacon watched too. On the far right was Naomi – her car now abandoned. Her walk was hasty, and she jogged just like Fox had come to remember. He smiled as his eyes caught hers, and even in the distance that lay between them they could see each other as bright as day. Naomi smiled.  
  
Otacon looked left, and saw Mei Ling next. Her shoulders were slumped forward, and her eyelids looked to be weighed down with anvils. A stressful look of exasperation had put a dab of color on her cheeks, but as she saw the green grass laid out before her, she quickened her pace.  
  
Then, both men turned, and down the last street they saw no one. Their eyes darted hungrily about the area, and they caught no sign of either Jack or Snake. "Where's Snake?!" Otacon cried, stepping off in different directions to find varying perspectives.  
  
And then, there was something.  
  
From the shadowy lengths of the streets, through a crowd of rioters, there came one body. Fox saw him, as did Otacon, and they both were filled with a temporary excitement.  
  
"Snake," Fox said, smiling. But, it quickly melted into a frown. "He walks alone." Otacon shuddered.  
  
And then, there was another.  
  
Just behind Snake, making his way out of the crowds was Jack. Moving beside each other, Otacon's face was touched with a smile of satisfaction and relief. The breeze slowed, and the cries were whittled down to whispers as the two came marching side by side, their shoulder parallel and their faces bright.  
  
They could not leave each other's company. Jack couldn't fail Snake, and Snake couldn't leave him behind.  
  
Otacon smiled. "The walk together." Snake was right, though. Jack would never be a replacement for either Otacon or himself, but…he had come to fill a new slot, and it was in each other's company that they found a balance. 


	21. Trump Cards

Chapter Twenty-One: Trump Cards  
  
  
  
All four of them – Snake, Jack, Naomi, and Mei Ling – reached Otacon and Fox's position together. There was a moment absent of any verbal expression, but was a noticeably exciting moment for all of them. Naomi nearly fainted at the sight of her brother, and the two had fallen into an instinctive hug that continued on for a number of minutes. Mei Ling laid her laptop and radio on a nearby bench that rested before a monumental fountain, and then returned to the others and watched anxiously as Snake and Otacon committed their hand shake that followed with a heart-felt hug and an amused glare from Jack who received Mei Ling's exuberant hug – a sigh to relieve herself of the excitement she had bottled up inside. Jack stepped away awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.  
  
"How…" Naomi spoke, shattering the 'silence' that was strangely loud. The roars of the riots and the swinging propellers of the more than four helicopters that circled the city was hardly silence, but was the closest they could come by.  
  
Fox looked down at his sister whose ear lay against his chest and whose arms were still grasping him tightly. He sighed, trying to give her an honest explanation. "The man upstairs just has a knack for me, I guess," was all he said, but his sister could sense nervousness in his tone. He was keeping something from her…from Otacon…and he would soon be keeping it from everyone.  
  
"It's good to see you again," Jack said to Otacon after Snake had stepped away, and the two shook heartily before Snake's eyes finally caught the soldier-turned ninja, and he felt an invisible hand expel the knowledge in him. Once again, reality seemed to crumble and blow into the wind like tiny grains of sand, only noticeable when they begin to settle in the surface of your eye.  
  
Naomi felt the sternness in her brother and turned her head to see Snake. A giant smile broke through the tears that streamed down her face, and after giving her brother another look, she loosened her grip and went to Otacon, Jack, and Mei Ling, leaving Snake and Fox to themselves. "Don't go away," she whispered to her brother before walking away, and he grinned.  
  
"Frank?" Snake asked. He took a time to pick the right name for addressing his lost comrade, but seeing he knew nothing of his position in the operation at hand he decided on a more personal invite. There was a subtle nod from Fox who proceeded to smile, his disheveled hair shifting in the wind and his trench coat waving wildly at his calves.  
  
"A rather abrupt reunion," he voiced. Snake acknowledged his comment and naturally smiled – only lightly, as too not expose his bitter excitement.  
  
"What brings you here?" Snake insisted, and Fox tilted onto his heels, chuckling within.  
  
"Heh. Do I sense suspicion, Snake?" He slipped his hands into his coat and exposed the blunt handle of a silver gun, and his eyes made a gesture for his shoulder where Snake found the handle of his trademark blade, his defining symbol. "On assignment," he finally said, letting the gun rest into its hidden holster again.  
  
"I didn't know you were employed?" Snake commented. Fox took his statement as humor.  
  
"You didn't know I was alive, either," he replied, almost wanting to wave his finger in a discerning manor just to catch a glimpse of Snake's reaction. "You've missed the mark more times than one, Snake. You and I are fading…the stars of the Past-Generation's military spotlight. Perhaps we can reclaim our fame here?" Snake threw him a skeptic look, and with that Fox started past his right shoulder for Otacon and the others.  
  
Snake stood in something of confusion and surprised by his old comrade's new attitude. "Mother force the Prozac?" he joked under his breath, but Fox smirked as he continued toward the others. Snake turned and followed the black-clad 'neither friend nor enemy' character, and joined the circle that had quickly taken form.  
  
Pushing between Jack and Otacon, he felt a quick rush of heat beside them all. The sun was bad enough, but when you put six stressed and sweating men and women in a tight circle, things went sour…quickly. "Why are we in a huddle?" Jack spoke up. Everyone seemed relieved by his question, and Mei Ling quickly pointed toward the fountain that was fairly close by. Truth was, they had not met for many weeks – not even Snake and Otacon – and as a result, felt rather awkward around each other. That and the recent events made loose communication a little tighter than usual.  
  
Oddly enough, when they had moved to the fountain, Otacon was the next to speak. "Well…I'll start." He seemed somewhat nervous, but it wasn't from talking to the others but from remembering what had happened in the last couple of hours. It was all enough to give any man of his age a crushing heart attack. Quickly, he informed them all of what happened prior to the moment in which he and Fox were stopped in the parking garage, and he took a long second to think before he spoke.  
  
"We were stopped by a bunch of soldiers," he continued, recounting the moment. "Some of them carried assault rifles, others had hand guns, and they all looked to be wearing more Kevlar than any military camouflage."  
  
"Pretty content on keeping you in the building, eh?" Snake intruded, but with a quick nod Otacon continued.  
  
"They were being ordered by the colonel," he said. Waiting for them to swallow it all, they looked at him as if expecting more.  
  
"The colonel?" Jack questioned. "Whose that?"  
  
"Colonel Roy Campbell, former leader of the now disbanded FOX-HOUND," Otacon clarified, and Snake looked at him – baffled. "I knew it by his voice. But, there's more," Otacon said, not waiting for it sink in this time around. "He's the commander of the UFAC, which…no longer exists." The reaction was the same. Dumbfounded.  
  
"With the apparent silencing of one of their agents who was evidently involved in the incident at Hell's Outpost, the Patriot's network caught onto the organizations existence and shut down the program," Otacon stated.  
  
"Who was the agent?" Mei Ling asked, eagerly.  
  
"Security purposes," Otacon said. "Couldn't tell me." Snake was furious.  
  
"Then who the hell are we working for?" he hollered, forcing a flock of wandering geese into the air and away from where they stood, conversing.  
  
"FACtion," Otacon told him. There was a more than obvious shock in the air, and Snake felt the wind knocked out of him. "The UFAC was designed to eliminate the Patriot and his entire control without involving the public, and without using violence. FACtion was created just after the UFAC became recognized as a legal addition to the world's top-secret organizations. It was never recognized by the officials, and has no problem with upsetting the balance of the public – as you can see." Otacon was referring to the current state of Manhattan.  
  
"Damn," Snake voiced, shaking his head. "What about the mission they put us up to? What about the Compilation?" Otacon seemed deeply troubled by Snake's question, and it was evident that he was still not entirely sure of what they should do and should not do.  
  
"The Colonel gave us this," he said, taking a seat at the bench and pulling forth the disc he had recovered from the West City Bank building before setting out for Manhattan. Moving the laptop onto his lap and setting the disc in its now open CD-ROM drive, the others huddled around as Snake stood before them all.  
  
"We trust the Colonel?" he asked, awaiting Otacon's mixed reply. None came. Just the cold evidence of being pushed out of his mind, was Otacon's reply.  
  
"Its the software FACtion's leader is using to run the operation. I got the feeling the Colonel has a superior, and with this disc he could be anywhere in the world." He waited as the software loaded onto the laptop, and as the fountain's cool aura was dulled by the crowd of bodies around him.  
  
A notice popped onto the screen and was followed by a swarm of windows. Canceling many of them, they were left with the two most important ones they could determine: the map of Manhattan, and a coding window that was the sole device controlling the entire program. With it, they could customize the software to their needs, and with the map they could watch and listen to any and all orders sent to the varying posts across Manhattan. At the time, four defined areas were flashing red, and three others were flashing yellow.  
  
Looking into the sky, Otacon counted four choppers in flight. "FACtion has lost control over these four areas," he pointed to them, "and I'd say are fighting for these three." He pointed at the yellow areas as Snake took a seat beside him and watched the monitor intensively. There was a series of angry orders blinking onto the screen and green-flashing areas that corresponded with them. "And those," Otacon said, reading one of them quickly, "come from whoever is in command of this operation."  
  
Snake nodded receptively and went on to inspect his SOCOM as the others stared in silence. After no more than two minutes, two more areas – adjacent to those all ready invaded – turned yellow, and one yellow area had melted into a blood red. Their faces were bright with overwhelming joy.  
  
But then there was a familiar ring. It sounded in Otacon's ear, and he quickly stood – setting the laptop on the bench – and stepped a few feet away from the others to get a feeling of privacy. "Yes?" he asked, touching his hand to his neck.  
  
"You're using the program I gave you?" It was the Colonel.  
  
"The people are wiping FACtion out!" Otacon exclaimed, surprised and in question. How could it be so easy?  
  
"Yes," the Colonel sighed. "I know. This will certainly speed up their plans." Otacon stopped, baffled. 'Speed up?' he thought. "They're out of the game!"  
  
The Colonel explained, "They expected a retaliation. To be honest, they had expected it sooner, but I think after time began to expire they shot the idea out of their heads. But, that doesn't much matter. They'll be deploying their 1st Officer Unit immediately. They can't wait around for the Six Points, now."  
  
"Six Points?" Otacon questioned.  
  
"I don't know much," the Colonel proclaimed. "But, they are just about second-command in the Patriot's web of control. Nothing he does or says can work without their approval. More often than not, Revolver Ocelot in particular, has gone against their ruling but they have taken appeasement over waging war on him." Otacon nodded.  
  
"So, why the 'six'?" he asked, and the Colonel thought.  
  
"I suppose it refers to the Continental Powers," the Colonel answered. "From each continent is a member. I don't know as much as He does, but FACtion believes that the Six Points will be arriving in Manhattan today to discuss something of importance with the Patriot. I'm not sure what, but He's confident that something's going on." Otacon nodded.  
  
"Then what about our mission?" Otacon asked. "Why does FACtion want the Compilation?"  
  
"As far as I know – or can guess – He's looking for the reason behind the Six Points' meeting here. Confirmation might be His goal, but I'm sorry. I don't know any of this for sure." Otacon sighed. The Colonel's lack of knowledge on the situation was a bit frustrating. "You might benefit from the mission, yourselves. If you were to succeed in gathering the data, you might be able to identify the 'topic of discussion' for today's little fiasco."  
  
Discarding the Colonel's last suggestion as to not say something he would later regret, he returned to their previous discussion. "So who is 'He'?" Otacon asked. The Colonel took a moment to contemplate an answer, and eventually spoke up.  
  
"My employer," he answered. "The head of FACtion. He asked for me to help oversee your operation and to give him advice regarding strategy. But, he got the bad end of the deal when he decided to keep me in the dark." He paused. "I know that doesn't necessarily answer your question, if you were looking for a name, but that's all I can give you."  
  
"Matter of security?" Otacon insisted.  
  
"Hell no," the Colonel returned. "If I knew, I wouldn't mind coughing it up, but he's cautious. He built the software he's using to control the entire invasion, along with the copy I burnt for you. It's original was given to me so that I could keep a close eye on things. He needs assertion. Not really the military hero, but more of a computer wiz. But…I have never met him, so the assumption that he's weak could be off the mark." Otacon nodded.  
  
"What's this 1st Officer Unit?" Otacon asked, bracing himself for another explanation.  
  
"FACtion's 2nd Officer Unit is comprised of two operatives: Frost and Formal. They are the more expendable of the five officers working directly beneath Him. Now, the 1st Officer Unit is comprised of three additional operatives: Klaymore, Titan, and Esher. Of the 2nd Officer Unit, only Formal has His frequency, limiting his and Frost's concerns to him, alone. You know of Frost and Formal, as you've all ready met, but let me send you the specs on the three 1st Officers." There was a moment of silence. "All right. I've uploaded them to your system." The 1st Officer Unit…that was FACtion's trump card.  
  
"How?" Otacon asked quizzically.  
  
"IDT – Internal Data Transfer," he claimed. "It was coupled with that software you have. It's something of an All-Access Networking system without the need of cables and cords. I don't know exactly, but it must run through some sort of Optical Signals." There was a moment where neither of them spoke – expecting the other to reinitiate conversation. But, the Colonel resumed.  
  
"That's all I can tell you for now. I have to report your 'condition' to Him before he suspects something has gone wrong." Otacon grinned. Something HAD gone wrong.  
  
"Thanks for the information, Colonel," Otacon insisted.  
  
"I'll get back to you," the Colonel proclaimed, and in an instant the transmission was ended. Otacon spent a moment where he stood, his back turned, to listen and look. The terrible condition of the city was rather humiliating, and as he turned back to the others he could see the contrasting joy about their faces.  
  
Returning to them, and taking a seat beside Snake to reclaim the laptop, he saw the monitor. He saw the oddly shaded LCD screen blur as he shifted beneath it, but when it had sharpened he was both happy and nervous. "Four posts have not been attacked," he said, counting the color-coded areas, "and five are being fought for." What the others did not see was the order in the bottom left corner of the screen. As they appeared, they became increasingly worse.  
  
'Four posts remain powerful.'  
  
SILENCE  
  
'All choppers report to the stable sectors.'  
  
SILENCE  
  
'1st Officers, be ready. All remaining units, set the gas markers.'  
  
SILENCE.  
  
'1st Officers…I want the 1st Officer Unit deployed! Now!'  
  
SILENCE  
  
'Klaymore. Detonate the Triborough Bridge and Tribeca Sector A.'  
  
This time, there was no silence. This time, Otacon's eyes shot up in fright as the ground shook. There was a groundbreaking thrust of wind and a vibrating blast of sound from the Tribeca area as a ball of fire emerged from the homes and the offices. Billowing from its resolve was a black cloud of smoke, and with the fire-soaked streets there came blood-curdling cries from hundreds of rioters as some were killed and others bore witness. And that was when Snake and Jack knew what had happened.  
  
Remembering the IN-Tech building, one thing came to Jack's mind. And when Snake replayed the moments within the toy store, the same thought entered his own. They watched their visual images, and they remembered…C4. C4 lined the walls, the ceiling.  
  
"They're playing trump," Otacon explained, and everyone saw it then…their second trump card.  
  
  
  
They had rigged Manhattan to blow. 


	22. The Zero District

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Zero District  
  
  
  
The cries didn't cease, and Snake and the others had all stepped forward to gape at the terrible monstrosity. Two giant plumes of smoke were fighting the clear blue heavens for total control of the vista, and the sky was losing. It was losing, badly.  
  
"I saw C4 on the ceiling of the store," Snake voiced. His audience was unclear for the thought was not directed to any one person or thing. Instead, it was the slip of a tongue – a random flow of thought. Jack had seen it too.  
  
"And lining the elevator shaft of the IN-Tech building," he breathed. Just as Snake, he was too taken by the sight before them to possess any true direction in his statement. "Damn! Why would they do that?" Jack smacked his thigh with the blunt of his fist and clenched his teeth as he turned t the bench where Otacon still sat – his view not obstructed by the others, for the smoke reached higher than anyone could imagine. Though he had not shown it, he was terrified.  
  
His insides were churning like a barrel of cake batter in a mixing bowl, and his hands were shaking like mad. The slightest passing of wind made him shudder, as he knew it had come from the flames – its fluttering breeze still warmed by the burning bodies and the smell of a sickening decay lingering beneath his nostrils.  
  
He arched his back and threw his head forward and between his knees where it hung like a wet rag. Jack turned back to the flames, trying to ignore Otacon but Snake could hear it…that terrible sound of regurgitation. 'He's been by me,' he told himself and pulled away from the others taking a seat on the bench beside Otacon.  
  
"I'm…I'm sorry," Otacon apologized between breaths. There was a strand of brownish-green dangling from his lips, but before he had grabbed his sleeve to wipe it clean Snake's hand was offering him something. Turning up to him, Otacon could see the hair that fell over his friend's forehead, and he sensed the sudden absence of a familiar trademark.  
  
His bandana.  
  
Otacon saw it in Snake's outstretched palm, and while reluctant to accept, he lightly took the cloth in his hand and touched his forehead. He couldn't put it to his lips. That was sinful.  
  
Quickly turning away from Snake he went to the fountain and urged his face forward, letting the mist cool him and the walls of water bathe his face. Snake watched him, but with a faint beep he turned to the laptop. Another message had appeared there.  
  
'Hello, Solid Snake.'  
  
He read it quickly, and then his eyes shot to Otacon in surprise, just as the others had turned to him. "He's coming!" Snake exclaimed and Otacon quickly jerked around to see the uneasy glares of Jack and of Fox and of Mei Ling and Naomi.  
  
"He's here," Fox said before the four split to the sides, leaving a line of absence for Otacon and Snake. Entering Battery Park were three heavily armored vehicles – a jeep at their lead. Snake found his footing and Otacon wrapped his hand tightly around the bandana before going to his partner's side. They watched and waited as the vehicles came close.  
  
It played like a record, its lines scratched and aged. Every second you listened closely, trying to absorb every moment, but it would constantly stall or repeat itself. Hope would always remain, though, for when you did not hope there was always the fear that the note following the one you would end on would shine brilliantly and you would miss the magnificence you had waited for.  
  
They all stood there, hoping that it wasn't 'Him,' hoping that it was a friend, hoping that it was someone who had come to help them…someone who had come to tell them the bombing was fake and that the people of Manhattan, including themselves, were safe. But when the jeep slowed to a halt – the armored vehicles doing the same – they knew that they were wrong. They knew who had come.  
  
All of the city froze in that moment when the jeep's passenger door opened. It was the only sound they heard. As if their eyes had taken the route of a traditionally-placed camera, they saw a worn brown boot touch the grass and then another. The blades of green seemed to stain red and were crushed violently when 'graced' by the character's presence. And when he had made his way out of the vehicle there was a slam as the door was shut.  
  
Before them he stood. His hair was fairly short and scruffy. It was highlighted just enough to add a 'rough' look and he was coupled with an entire 'Abercrombie-style' outfit. He wore a plaid shirt – its sleeves rolled to the elbow – over a blue and gray t-shirt. His jeans were somewhat baggy, but not extensively, and his boots possessed a fake sense of age. Surely enough, this character had come out of the 'Faded' age, but he was not at all what they had expected.  
  
He had muscles. They were not so large as to make his arms uncomfortably wave at his sides, but he was fit all right. On his face was a rather amusing smile, and under his right arm was a laptop. He was their man, but he certainly didn't fit the physical profile.  
  
"Good afternoon," he said. He had obviously taken notice of Mei Ling and Naomi for his voice seemed almost too low to fit him. "It's a shame." He shook his head. Otacon wanted to spring forward but Snake's stern presence prevented his offensive.  
  
"Why?" Jack asked, then. 'He' smiled in return, but Snake's heart fell when he heard that feeble voice. It was innocent. So innocent. So hurt.  
  
'He' looked over his shoulder and watched the burning Tribeca in the background before returning a concerned stare to the others. He had his answer. "Failure to comply with demands. Retaliation. Treason. All of those could fit the mold." He began to pace, as it seemed all villains did.  
  
"What else was I supposed to do? You cannot negotiate with a million angry rioters. It simply does not work," He claimed before continuing. "And it is obvious that tear gas won't stop them all. The first hundred would soak it all up, anyway. We'd run out of stock. And that would put us in a bind, would it not?" He stopped and pondered for a moment before turning to them, his hands folded as if in prayer.  
  
"There comes a time when you have to lay your cards out for everyone to see," he proclaimed. "Until someone knows you're not bluffing, you're at risk. And in a card game as critical as this, the risk is always there. So, eliminate the margin for bluffing, and let everyone know your limits are far from breached. Let the people know that you are willing to bring down them, their city, and even yourself before you let them take control. That's when they stop. That's when they listen."  
  
"What do you want?" Snake pursued, trying to find some rational behind their influence. 'He' was quick to answer.  
  
"What do I want? I think you know…or at least your Colonel Campbell certainly did." He was grinning wide. Snake's stomach began to turn. "Surprising…he told me about you the moment he contacted me. 'Battery Park,' he said. Told me you had your hands on my software. With a few incentives and some guns to his head, he was an easy egg to crack." His smile was sickening, and just as Snake felt furious toward the Colonel, he felt furious toward 'Him.'  
  
"Oh look," He pointed into the vast black and blue sky as a red and white figure came through the smoke, "here he is now."  
  
There was a voice on a radio within the jeep and a man stepped from the driver's seat, the radio in his hand. "Are they clear?" he asked, and the man nodded. "Augusta Care Flight, you are cleared for landing."  
  
"Roger that," another voice called. "Care Flight entering descent." There was anything but silence as the helicopter – an Augusta model, commonly used for medical transportation in the United States – began its descent.  
  
The way the wind broke through the Ferris Wheel and the other rides and attractions that were not far away made it somewhat difficult for landing there. "Uh, the wind seems to be picking up. This landing site appears a little iffy." 'He' looked up at the helicopter after hearing the voice on the radio within the jeep.  
  
"Land," He ordered, blatantly. There was no sympathy in his voice as his message was relayed to the pilot of the helicopter through the jeep's driver. And within the next minute the Augusta had touched down, sending the weak grass into the air, and blowing the water that fell from the fountain through the air in mid-flight.  
  
There was movement around the helicopter as people moved from the hull to Him and then to the driver of the jeep and so on and so forth before they had gotten enough confirmation. And then, as His smile grew wider a man stumbled out of the helicopter, falling onto his face. Two men pulled on his collar and he quickly gathered his balance before they pushed him forward again.  
  
His army jacket was gone, and so was his hat. Its absence showed off his balding head, and there was no hiding the disheveled look of his clothes. They had been ripped, torn, and bled upon. From His story, the Colonel had required minimal incentives, which led Snake to believe that he had undergone the beating after his untimely confession. 'No,' Snake thought.  
  
"No!" Snake cried, jumping forward but the Colonel's arms went up, telling him in a gesture to stop. For that, he was hit across the face by one of the men that held him, and then He stepped beside the Colonel and felt the hair that was left on his head.  
  
"You're one old man," he said, turning to the others. "You, Solid Snake, are old as well. It seems both of you have surpassed your prime. There is no sense in going against my orders at this point. If you were to defy me once more, and were to turn down your mission your friend would find death in the temple faster than you could find green in this park." Snake struggled forward, but Fox stopped him.  
  
And then, though Snake wished the moment would last longer, the Colonel was taken back to the helicopter.  
  
"So you see what I want?" He asked. "Just a few blocks south of here is the warehouse. We have come to call it and the area surrounding it, 'the Zero District.' I want you to take a stroll that way, and get us a little inside look on what's happening. You take the disc you all ready have," he said, reminding Snake of the disc that remained in a pocket around his waistline – one he was supposed to use early that morning. "And you insert it in the Compilation. It will run on its own. Then, you remove the disc and bring it to McMillion's Coffee House. I'll be there waiting for you."  
  
Snake and the others looked at him, sternly. That was their only reply. "I only want Snake and Jack going in. Otacon and Fox may accompany them, but only as backup." They finally nodded, and He smiled not with amusement, but with victory. "Come on," he said, then, and Naomi reluctantly let go of Fox and Mei Ling quickly glued herself to her friend. The two of them were led by other men to the armored vehicles and disappeared within.  
  
The four others stood there, not wanting to go, but without a choice. They wanted to stay there and to grip the moment so that they could be sure that the meeting with Mei Ling and Naomi – may it be their last – would be a fulfilling one. But that didn't happen either.  
  
And then Snake stepped forward as He walked to his jeep. "What's your name?" Snake asked. 'He' was not something he wanted to address him as any longer.  
  
He looked over His shoulder and smiled. "Dante," he finally said. There was a stirring of thought before he took a seat in the passenger seat of the jeep and peeked out his head. "Better get a move on."  
  
And then, their last memories and their last hopes were carted away with the sound of a dying helicopter's groan and the cry of rubber on the grass. There was a chill of anger and desperation lifting in the air as Otacon moved to the fountain again and let Snake's bandana soak in the water's torrents. Then, as Snake stepped over to him he tore it down the center and after tying one strip over his forehead he turned to Snake who smiled. Then, he took the other, which Otacon offered up to him, and tied it around his own – the cold water soothing them both.  
  
Smiling at each other they nodded as if a substitution for their handshake and then turned away from the fountain, and from the departing vehicles, and from the death that still lingered. And not letting the sadness ensue, Snake and Otacon turned to face south and began walking. Seeing the picture that was being painted, both Jack and Fox followed, their minds set on one mission, one objective, one adventure.  
  
They were going to the Zero District, but not just going there…they were going there as friends…  
  
The Zero District. 


	23. The Romantics

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Romantics  
  
  
  
The warehouse was lit well. The ceiling's lights were dim, but those that lined the floor were shining brilliantly. From Ocelot's view, there could be seen no soldiers. The security of the Zero District was insanely stealthy.  
  
"Hmm," he growled. In his chair he sat, one hand supporting his chin and the other rhythmically tapping the desk. On the Compilation's monitor was a picture of Battery Park. Several forms littered a small area, and a helicopter was slowly landing in their midst. Around them were several armored vehicles and a jeep. And as he listened, he heard the words he wanted to here. "The Zero District," he grinned before putting his hand to his ear and waiting.  
  
"Yes?" a voice called. It was synthesized, just as before. Ocelot smiled when he heard it.  
  
"Anxious?" he asked. There was a sigh on the other end.  
  
"Thought I saw Him coming back," the voice claimed. "Snake and the others should be on their way soon. You should keep your guard up." Ocelot nodded.  
  
"I'm watching their conversation now," he stated. "And, to avoid further conclusion, how about we use His real name?"  
  
The other voice wavered slightly. "I'm afraid I don't know it, sir."  
  
"Dante," Ocelot quickly clarified. "Dante Borschnedst. Born in Russia – May 13th, 1984. He moved to Australia in 2003 and joined FACtion in 2012, becoming its commander in 2014. His area of expertise is computer and software engineering, and is a certified helicopter pilot. Tell me; Why do I know more about him than you?" There was an uneasy silence.  
  
"Sir, I believe you hired me because of my position in FACtion, not because of my knowledge of his personal history." There was a sense of defiance in the voice, even as it was synthesized. "And sir, I will continue to gather as much information as I am able, but right now all I can tell you is that they are on their way."  
  
Ocelot swallowed hard. "I've made arrangements. The Six Points will be on their way soon enough." There was a grunt of acknowledgement from the voice opposite Ocelot. "Try and keep Dante occupied until they have made it to Embassy Square."  
  
"Do not worry, sir," the voice returned. "They will not be bothered by FACtion." With that, Ocelot ended the transmission and stretched, setting his feet on the desk before him. He seemed almost discouraged – a grim look of anger on his face.  
  
"All soldiers," he began, clearing his throat, "in the light!" With that, the entire warehouse was lit and every hidden soldier came forth out of the shadows.  
  
There were three floors above the first, but all were fairly wide paths that grabbed against the walls tightly. Stepping from nearly every two feet of the paths was a soldier equipped with an M4 Carbine while some carried sniper rifles that were almost equal their heights. When all had shown themselves Ocelot found his footing and pushed his chair under the desk, turning to them – his arms outstretched.  
  
"We should be expecting visitors," he proclaimed, smiling wide. "I want all but the Compilation-accent lights out, and the Pale Screens activated. All units are to remain behind the Pale Screens until I have requested your assistance. Is this clear?" There was a nod from every soldier in the following second, and Ocelot's smile stretched clear to the sides of his face. "Good…lights!"  
  
The warehouse was swept clean of its momentary glow, and only two objects remained lit by several lights that continued to burn at their feet. One was the Compilation, and the other was Ocelot.  
  
Slowly, he stepped over to the Compilation, and he watched as Dante sat in his jeep. "Get a move on," Dante had said, and as Ocelot heard those words his grin shined eerily in the shadowy lights beneath him. And then, with the window exited, he chuckled.  
  
"I need silent transportation ready immediately."  
  
  
  
The sun was beginning to fall even at such a young hour. It had yet to reach 4:00, and all ready the sun was beginning its descent. Still, it remained bold and brilliant, and it would be hours before it had fallen beneath the horizon and gone to light another thousand cities.  
  
Passing onto the sidewalk from the softened ground the four had become rather accustomed to, they noticed subtleness in the crowds. The wailing cries and roars of the angry and sad had died away, and what remained was a mass of depressed statues, their skin frozen in marble and their tears like bullets of fire, licking up their last ounces of strength. It was a sight that neither Snake, Otacon, Fox, or Jack wished to witness, but it was one that they could not avoid. And in the silence were the waning fire engines that burned the streets under them as they scrambled to the scene. With FACtion in disarray, the police stations had been left unguarded as well as the firehouses. But, the people were still stranded for the will to move was no longer in their possession, and were they to attempt crossing a bridge it could fall beneath their feet. There was no safe place.  
  
"When is the government going to intervene?" Jack asked himself, but found that he had not thought but spoken. Snake did not turn to him, but spoke quietly as to not detonate a citywide panic at his words.  
  
"The media is being restricted," he answered. "Only Manhattan knows what's happening. Even if someone else were to find the story their broadcast would be weeded out before they got a chance to air it." He looked ahead; no buildings to his right…only a giant sea and a railing to hold him back. "Ocelot is doing it."  
  
Jack's head sprung up like a 'Jack-in-the-Box' and his arms quickly flew to his sides. "Why would he be censoring the news?" Snake stopped, and Otacon and Fox with him. Then, pivoting on his heel he came face to face with Jack, his more stern than the young one's.  
  
"Ocelot doesn't want the entire world knowing about the Patriots! If he weren't immediately taken care of by the other men among his ranks, every government in the world would go to hell! He'd be left to lead a hundred dying nations, and even though we know he wants his name on every billboard and his face plastered on every street light, he wouldn't let it go public if he had enemies with power." Snake stepped back and turned away from the others in thought.  
  
"No?" Jack tested him. "I think he wants it to go public, and I think FACtion does too. They want him exposed, but the only way he can beat them is to do want they don't want. So, he doesn't go live with the story today, but what's stopping him tomorrow? With his enemies good and dead, he has nothing to worry about."  
  
"Then why didn't he go live when he first found out what he really was?" Otacon began, thinking back as he spoke. "I don't think FACtion is a threat to him. He has all of the United States military affairs in his palm, but if he let the people know there's no way he could depend on the loyalty of every member of the United States military…and he certainly couldn't go up against the world with a pair of revolvers."  
  
"I dunno," Snake commented. "He's pretty skilled with those." He laughed and turned to Otacon who was surprisingly serious. His smile melted in an instant. "Hmph," Snake grunted, turning away again. "We can't worry about that now, anyway. It's a little after three. We need this done by four. That's the mission deadline." Otacon nodded, respecting Snake's, but they were all disappointed not to see the conversation to its end.  
  
"A little after three?" Jack asked. "How can you tell?"  
  
"The sun," Fox interjected, beating Snake to the answer. "You spend enough time on the field and the sky starts looking like a big clock." Jack seemed amused by the answer, but at its end Snake and Otacon had started off again, and he and Fox were quick to follow.  
  
From then on, they made the journey in silence. Snake was continually checking his pocket for the disc he'd been given and Fox's hands were stretching in anticipation for a brawl. Jack and Otacon were somewhat absent from the situation, their minds concerned for other things. But, they were all brought down to earth when they stopped just a block north of the warehouse, which was easily noticeable from where they stood. Stopping, they turned to each other to clarify any misunderstandings before heading in.  
  
"Snake," Otacon began, "you and Jack will go in. We don't have any way of reaching the roof, so we cant very well make a descent. That leaves you with only one infiltration method."  
  
"Through the front door," Snake suggested. Otacon nodded uneasily.  
  
"Right," he confirmed. "That's not very reasonable, but there's not much else we can do."  
  
"So, there aren't any fire escapes?" Jack questioned. Otacon shook his head vaguely.  
  
"Shouldn't be," he stated. "From the intel we had gathered it was built solely for the housing of the Compilation. They used it as a shoe factory for a while, but 'Hush Puppies' went out of business. We managed to get some schematics on its infrastructure."  
  
"The first floor is mainly open," he continued. "At the far end is an entrance to a control room, and on either side is a door to two separate stairwells. Those stairwells stretch three additional floors that aren't much more than wide pathways around the walls of the building. From images of the interior, gathered from when it was a shoe factory, each level spanned the entire building, creating four floored levels. We assume that it was changed around when Ocelot moved in."  
  
"So," Jack thought, "Ocelot will be there?" Otacon shook his head.  
  
"We can't be sure, but we expect several sentries. It holds the most important piece of technology known to man – or high-clearance officers – but that's beside the point." Snake looked at Otacon deafly.  
  
"Several sentries and we're supposed to go through the front door?" Snake shook his head. The mission sounded bad enough considering their employers. "Why don't you take the lead? I'll cover ya." Snake was half-joking, but Otacon's stern face suppressed the laughter.  
  
"I was able to arrange a meeting with NewTech prior to the mission," Otacon claimed. "We outlined the mission and determined what sorts of devices we'd need for every possible scenario. Unfortunately, Mei Ling knows more than me."  
  
"Well, what about the gadgets? What are they?" Snake pursued and Otacon's head dropped.  
  
"Mei Ling has them," he sighed. Snake looked at him blankly. "I'm sorry but we didn't expect any of this to happen." He was right. None of them had any idea the situation would have intensified so quickly. "Anyway, there's no alternative. The only entrances we have are through the front."  
  
"Fortune, I hope you're on our side with this one," Snake muttered, his eyes to the heavens. Then, without any other conversation he turned away. Otacon, sensing the tension, concluded as quickly as he could.  
  
"Otacon, be ready if we need extracted," Jack said. Turning away from him, he looked over Fox and smiled. "You come with us."  
  
"He said…Dante said," Otacon tried, but Jack waved him off.  
  
"As long as we get what he wants, he'll be happy," Snake commented, still looking off toward the warehouse. "Leave the rest up to us. Just be ready," he ended, and Otacon nodded, almost tempted toward a smile.  
  
Then, without a farewell of any kind, Snake, Jack, and Fox walked off. Otacon was left there, his arms at his sides and his mind racing…not with questions of safety or odds…but with questions of himself. Always, he was the one to stand back and to watch. He didn't favor the violence, but he extremely disliked that feeling…that feeling that one always gets when finding they're the butt of a joke, or that they're the one person not invited to the party.  
  
They had their party, and Otacon had his lonesome. And then, lifting his hand from his side, he waved.  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
  
  
It was not long before the three had come to the warehouse, its green, purple, and brick red windows shattered and scattered across the sidewalks. Many of them remained, not broken but cracked, and the paint that lathered them allowed no sort of reflection. The majority of the building was made of bricks, but parts of it furnished rows of disheveled siding that were oftentimes crooked. The two mediums made for a terribly obvious transition, and from the looks of the entire Zero District, the building resided in a run-down ghetto of sorts. But, just across the street where New York Plaza One sat, new-age buildings and up-tempo clubs and restaurants cloaked the darkness.  
  
All of the Financial District, (the southern area of Manhattan Island) it seemed, had been renovated into a rough mixture of Dayton, Ohio and the Metropolis. Ever since the fall of the World Trade Center towers, New York City found itself deeper and deeper into the growing hole of society, and the world was returning to its darkest days. The Cold War, a time of continuous tension, appeared to be reentering the spotlight, - its name altered to fit the style of today, but its meaning still the same.  
  
"Ready?" Snake asked. Fox and Jack turned to him, their eyes full and their faces solid and confident. They nodded. Snake let a brief grin escape, and with that he moved quickly to the doors, Jack and Fox following close behind.  
  
Looking back at them for assertion, Snake observed them nodding before taking in a deep breath of air and placing his hand on the doorknob. With the lightest touch, he turned the brass knob and slowly slipped through the gap he had made, hoping no light would find its way inside as he did so.  
  
Fox and Jack followed suit, and when they had closed the door behind them – making sure it was not to slam – they found only an orange glow several tens of meters away. Moving through another set of nearly invisible glass doors, they stopped at Snake's hand gesture – one that they could hardly see in the darkness.  
  
Turning to Jack, he tapped his temple and quickly Jack realized the request. Fiddling with a neural assortment of nanomachines, his view was suddenly lit with a green blaze that defined the area as if under a giant spotlight. Panning the room, his head cocked, he saw no unusually bright areas. None.  
  
Then, there was a flash. The night vision blipped off, and Snake and Jack stepped back rigidly. Looking around, there were no newly sprouted lights, nor was there lightning…or even an evident storm for that matter. But they almost recognized that flash…and it came again before Jack indicated to Snake that there were no identifiable sentries in the area. With that, he started into the middle of the room – quicker than before – his eyes set on the orange glow and the object that bathed in its light.  
  
Stopping before it, he watched…mesmerized. Only when Fox and Jack had cautiously made their way to his side did he understand the image on the monitor.  
  
It was them. And then…there was a mass of sentries around the paths on the second, third, and forth levels. Looking this way and that, he saw no sign of them but there was no doubting their presence. They were being watched, and the camera that watched them was playing itself back before them on the Compilation's monitor. It was like a terrifying reflection, one that you can never come to terms with.  
  
"Lights!" a familiar voice cried, and there was a sudden emergence of orange, its glow engulfing the three as well as another figure that stood opposite them.  
  
From the control room at the opposite end of the warehouse's main floor came a strikingly familiar foe. His boots spoke as they touched the floor, and his hips glimmered, just as his eyes burned with the fire of a thousand treacherous souls. At their surprise, he grinned. "Good day," he said simply, and Jack stumbled back in amazement.  
  
"Ocelot!" Snake cried out. Hearing his name announced before him, Ocelot smiled a dark, evil smile and threw his arms out at his sides as if expecting a hug or introducing some grand parade.  
  
"It's been a long time, Snake," he grinned.  
  
"Not long enough," Snake replied, a fierce hatred easily noticeable in his voice.  
  
"Heh. I won't lie, I feel the same way." Pausing, he gazed around. "Brings back memories, doesn't it? Shadow Moses, the Tanker, Big Shell, Hell's Outpost…we've been through a lot together."  
  
"I wouldn't say together," Snake interjected, bringing an amused smile to Ocelot's face.  
  
"You never did let conversation go dry," Ocelot mused. "I have to say, you were my favorite of the Snakes…a better opponent than they ever were partners. But, its like they say: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."  
  
"Hmph…sounds like you mismatched your friends with your enemies. You always shoot the wrong ones." Ocelot cocked his head back in outrageously exaggerated laughter.  
  
"Well," he began again, pulling his pocket watch from the depth of his pant pocket and reading the time, "It is nearly four. No need to drag this out." Pausing, Snake watched. "Soldiers…in the light!"  
  
Like out of a scary 'Twilight Zone' the bodies of nearly two hundred soldiers appeared in the light, their guns gripped tightly to their chests and their nozzles aimed at the sky. They would not attempt to fire unless ordered. Ocelot smiled at Jack's surprise. He'd scanned the entire area with Night Vision and saw nothing. "How?" he panicked.  
  
"Pale Screens," Ocelot answered. "They work nicely at diverting night vision and thermal sights. Specifically assembled infrared terminals disguise the natural radiation of a human. It's something I happened to stumble over at the local Black Market." There was no returning smile, but that odd flashing was emitted again before he continued.  
  
"I regret to inform you that the Compilation's files are in no condition for screening today," he proclaimed, surprising them all with his knowledge of the operation. "And Fox, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be backup." He grinned, and just as he began to turn away Fox bounded for him sword drawn and held at his side.  
  
And as he leaped over the Compilation, finding himself upon Ocelot he forced his arm forward – blade in hand – and struck through the aging man's body. But, when he had followed through Ocelot's side he stepped back in awe.  
  
There was no blood to be shed, and there was no scar to be shown. He simply let his head fall back before a sickening laugh echoed through the cavern- like warehouse. Turning to Fox, he grinned and pulled forth his pocket watch. This time, Fox did not shudder, but when Ocelot's head came up from it he smiled wider than he ever had before.  
  
"Four o'clock," he stated. "Heh…worked like a charm."  
  
"What?!" Fox exclaimed, and Ocelot pointed to the desk on which the Compilation sat. There, they saw a small device, a light on it blinking red. All of them remembered. The flash. The light. The images…it was all so familiar.  
  
The blueprints of CELL had come to Otacon the same way, but it appeared Ocelot was using the same device to relay his own image. He wasn't there. He had left long ago.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ocelot continued, "but I have an appointment I simply cannot miss. The Six Points are waiting for me." Grinning, Snake heard a beep in his ear and reluctantly took the call.  
  
"Yes?" he asked.  
  
"Snake?! He's lying!" Otacon cried.  
  
"Otacon?!" Snake reverberated. "What?!"  
  
"The Six Points aren't there yet! The Colonel told me! They're still on their way!" Otacon was fervently working to get out all that he could as to not detract from Snake's current position, surrounded by several sentries – all heavily armed.  
  
"Solicitor?" Ocelot joked. "And, let me assure you, the Six Points are not 'on their way.' They've been here for the past eighteen hours." Suddenly, the building began to rattle abnormally, and a faint sound filled Snake's ear.  
  
"Chopper?" he exclaimed, and Ocelot nodded. Snake understood.  
  
"There's the decoy," he grinned. "Formal will inform Dante of their expected arrival, as I have all ready told him, and FACtion will escort it down."  
  
'Formal?!' Snake thought. But, the voice, the one that had been synthesized, and the one that Ocelot had spoken to on several accounts…the insider. That was Formal. "What are you talking about?!" Snake yelled.  
  
"Formal has worked with FACtion for years. Lucky for me, Frost has no contact with Dante, so as protection, I used Apocylai to record his and Frost's actions throughout the stages of their mission." So, Frost didn't even know Formal was a double agent. "When you destroyed it, I was forced to contact Formal directly. He's been my inside agent all along, keeping me updated every step of the way."  
  
Snake became enraged. "But as I said," Ocelot continued, "I am short on time. And, as it seems, so are you." Snake sneered at him and gritted his teeth as Jack pulled forth a Hammerli 280. Aiming it at Ocelot, he did not fire. He only watched. "Soldiers," he paused, "kill them."  
  
Just as his last message was breathed, a 'whoosh' of air caught the team's attention and their eyes moved to the ceiling. There, falling from it was a black-clad figure, its identity masked by its speed. The dirty blonde hair that fell back in a ponytail gave away its gender, sure enough.  
  
And then, she landed before the Compilation, her legs bending as she impacted. Surprisingly enough, she stood in an instant and before Ocelot could salute or turn away, she had sent her elbow through the device on the desk, and there was a terrible flash, followed by screeching gunfire.  
  
Snake looked at Jack, but they both knew that there was no way dropping now would save them from two hundred simultaneously fired bullets. That, they knew, was impossible. But, with the sounds, their legs fell under them like instinct and they crashed to the floor, their hands over their heads as a new firearm entered the song.  
  
A Hammerli 280 and a shotgun.  
  
They were fired time and time again, and Fox was above Jack and Snake, shielding them from the miraculous number of bullets that pelted down upon them. At the same time, the woman was sliding a disc into the Compilation, and at the sight of it Snake checked his pocket. Gone.  
  
As quickly as she could, she went through the tens of windows that littered the screen – all-working to complete a different task. The grueling crescendo that left Fox's mouth was painful to hear and the thought of his muscles bending this way and that second after second, millisecond after millisecond…Snake couldn't imagine the pain.  
  
Then, the gunshots grew louder. There was a voice at one point that whispered to Snake, but neither the message nor the voice could be understood. Only the violent cracking of gunfire and the deflection of hundreds of bullets could be heard, along with the occasional grunt of a fallen sentry.  
  
Hurriedly, Snake found his footing and ran to the woman's side, watching as the files were loaded into the Compilation. She turned her head once and smiled before looking back at the monitor, her hands resting on the keyboard in anticipation of the moment the installation would be complete.  
  
"How'd you get my disc?" Snake asked, nearly yelling in her ear. She smiled.  
  
"Don't worry," she said, her voice delicate but rough at the same time – as if that were possible. "Almost done!" she exclaimed, and Snake turned back to see the man firing the shotgun and the Hammerli, but he had no clear view for his trench coat's collar was standing straight up…as was Fox's…and the woman's. "Got it!"  
  
In an instant, the disc popped out and Jack came to Snake's side, grabbing his shoulder. "The sentries are moving through the stairwell! We have to get out!" he cried, and Snake nodded before the woman dropped the disc in his hands.  
  
"Go!" Fox hollered. Snake stopped, watching all three of them. They all wore trench coats and they all held their collars straight up. "Tell Otacon," he said, breathing quickly and heavily, his arms moving faster than anything Snake had ever seen. "He wondered who I was employed for…this is them!" The woman moved off in a blur, jumping to the second level from where she had just stood.  
  
Landing safely, she found herself surrounded by sentries, and with the gunfire diverted from Fox for the moment, he let his arms relax, a sense of urgency still apparent with the evidence of gunfire all around them. "Who are they?!" Snake cried.  
  
Fox looked at him and smiled. "Who are we?" Snake then remembered the shadow that helped him escape Frost's seduction, and Jack remembered the shotgun-armed man in the elevator shaft. To their left stood that man, but as they turned to him again, he looked over his shoulder only his eyes peering over the collar. And with that, Fox found a spare M4 on the floor and tossed it into Snake's arms.  
  
"We're the Romantics," Fox smiled. Turning as if on instinct, he raised his blade again t deflect another bullet. Then, he was staring at Snake again, his face stern but full of enjoyment. "Get out of here. Go to the café. We'll meet up again, but you have to follow the trail."  
  
"That's exactly what Ocelot wants us to do!" Snake exclaimed and Fox chuckled.  
  
"Then do it," he said. "Manhattan will be in pieces by the end of the day if you don't go." Snake reluctantly nodded and then, resting his hand on Fox's shoulder, smiled. Shrugging him off and snickering, Fox turned back to the enemy in an instant and deflected another wave of bullets as the man and woman went in from either side of the second floor, closing in on the sentries.  
  
Then, the doors from the stairwell busted open and at the sight, Snake and Jack started for the door, their legs pumping and their arms waving back and forth, side to side. Both of them were wondering questions they had no answers for. Who was that man? Who was that woman? The Romantics? Follow the trail? Coming to the doors, several sentries dropped behind them but they didn't stop.  
  
Twisting around and running backwards, they fired continuously: Jack with his Hammerli and Snake with the M4 Carbine. Four men fell before them, the three Romantics brawling with the innumerable foes. And then, pushing through the glass doors and the entrance doors, the light washed over them…the sun's rays.  
  
And when Snake and Jack looked up they saw a Jeep halt before them, the driver shifting the gears and putting it into neutral. Otacon smiled at them. "Shotgun!" Jack yelled, and to Snake's disappointment he was forced into the back, setting his newly-acquired M4 at his side.  
  
"Where's Fox?" Otacon questioned, and off in the distance Snake spotted the chopper floating above a street, descending slowly.  
  
"He's with his employers," he said, smiling. And Otacon turned to him, the sounds of gunfire still breaking the barriers of the warehouse and the wailing cries of Fox erupting in their ears.  
  
"You know them?" Otacon questioned, the jeep beginning to lurch forward and then cutting through the wind like a knife. Otacon waited and Snake thanked them silently…subtly. He nodded.  
  
"The Romantics."  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: After this rather MASSIVE chapter, PLEASE review! And, don't worry, there is surprisingly enough, much more to come. Thanks!! 


	24. Like the First Frost of Winter

Chapter Twenty-Four: Like the First Frost of Winter  
  
  
  
"Good job, Formal," Dante said, his lips thin and stretched by a gleaming smile as the sound of a chopper weighed overhead. Grasping a radio in his right hand he raised it to his ear and cleared his throat. "All units stand by," he announced as a door opened. Cocking his head to the left, the room he sat within seemed to finally take form having been blocked from his mind. "Suited up, Colonel?"  
  
From the bathroom of the coffee house came the Colonel, his bloodied clothes in his left hand and a newer set of army apparel on his body. There was a rough grimace on his face and it became readily apparent as several FACtion guards aimed their AK's and M4's at him that he was returning to duty against his own will. "Hmph…let's get on with it." Dante grinned – pleased by the Colonel's disgust of the situation – and handed the Colonel the radio.  
  
He stared Dante heavily in the eyes and showed his displeasure before snatching the radio from his outstretched hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he forced down the button on its side with his thumb and hesitated. His lips only slightly parted, no noises escaped him. His eyes narrowed on Dante who glowered back at him and then they scrolled left to Formal…and right to Frost. Hearing the chopper's groan come louder he looked through the glass wall to his left and then to the waitresses who were held under four assault rifles behind the service counter.  
  
'No way out,' he thought, and when he had closed his eyes Dante waited…he watched. There was a dreadful sigh, "Bring her down." With Dante's glowing smile the Colonel loosened his grip on the radio and the button clicked out of its stressed position before he promptly turned it over to Dante with a foul expression about his face – like he was trying to get rid of some stale after-taste.  
  
And then, led by the soldiers, the entire population of the coffee house – Dante, Frost, Formal, the Colonel, the waitresses, two or three coffee- lovers, and several FACtion soldiers – moved onto the sidewalk. Looking into the sky, Dante caught notice of the large lack form hovering in the sun's massive spotlight.  
  
A Kamov KA-27 "Helix" – its model prior made famous by the Soviet Union for mere transportation, later armed with homing torpedoes used against enemy submarines – hovered like a villain in itself, but as FACtion soldiers swarmed the street, their weapons aimed into the sky and one of them shouting orders to the Helix via megaphone, its threat was falsely dismissed.  
  
"Surround it!" Dante cried, and the soldiers quickly assembled a new formation, forming a neat circle around he landing site as the wind intensified and the noise began to wash out all other distractions. Through Dante's yelling and hollering all that could be truly understood – and only somewhat at this point – were his abnormal hand movements and gestures.  
  
The Colonel stood behind them all, his heart a mixture of anger and joy. Otacon's perspective had changed everything. He had gone from a firm believer of FACtion's conduct to a traitor, but he still possessed a flame that yearned for its fuel – the Patriot's destruction – and that was all coming to him in that moment. With the Six Points abandoned by the Patriot in the streets of Manhattan there would be no hope of fulfilling whatever Ocelot was planning.  
  
And then the chopper landed. The rotors began to slow and the noise began to dim, allowing the voices of the tense soldiers to rise above it and cry their orders to the inhabitants of the chopper. Their weapons gripped tightly in their hands they watched the helicopter as its rotors had come to a complete stop, and at that time their eyes whipped back to Dante in search of assertion. And with his smile…that smile of deep satisfaction, they felt that things were going right. Freedom was on the horizon, and they were going to meet it. And with his smile, they smiled. Their hearts filled to the brim with joy, they heard Dante's voice call out, "Move…take them."  
  
The soldiers looked to each other and quickly stepped to the door of the helicopter, their hands beginning to shake faintly. And then, the crowd stunned by anticipation, one man stepped forward and with a quick jerk of his arm the door slid aside.  
  
And then there was a crack that left them all silent. And the man took one graceful step back, his hand leaving the handle of the door and moving slowly up from his stomach to his chest. The entire street was frozen, looking for some sort of explanation, waiting for something to deny the fact that was before them. And then he felt it…the warmth of his own body, his own blood.  
  
He stumbled once, falling to his knees, and then grasped his chest as his legs withdrew beneath him and his back met the cold street.  
  
Dante looked at it like it was some sort of sick joke, but in those seconds that he saw that soldier fall, a lick of crimson blood scarring his chest, he knew that there was something wrong. And when his gaze fell over Formal in surprise, Formal was as shocked as he – his face expressing deep amazement.  
  
"It's a trap!" one of the soldiers cried, landing on his fallen friend – a bullet in his forehead. Then, there was an outbreak of gunfire exchanging from FACtion soldiers to the copper as several troops – carrying the insignia of the Army Rangers – moved into the street, abandoning the Helix that was readying for lift-off.  
  
"Dammit, Formal!" Dante cried. "What the hell is this?!" Dante was furious, and Formal looked back at him in awe. "Dammit, Formal! Take care of it!" With that, Dante and the Colonel were rushed inside the coffee house by four FACtion soldiers, leaving Formal and Frost to assist the remaining FACtion soldiers scattered about the street.  
  
Seeing evidence of M4 Carbines and standard 9mm side-arms, Formal set his hand on Frost's shoulder and jerked his thumb upward toward the roof. She nodded and disappeared into the coffee house where she would proceed to the roof of the building. Turning away from her, Formal dug his hands into his suit and pulled forth several knives – spanning them out like cards.  
  
"Damn that Ocelot," he spoke to himself, using a wounded soldier at his feet to speak. "Come and get it!" Formal cried, and with the flip of his wrist he had sent three knives spiraling through the air, the sun's dawning light catching them like glistening spires before they pelted into a Rangers' thigh. Grinning wide, the man stumbled against the pilot's side- window and with a shrieking crack, his face was replaced by a stinging bullet.  
  
Formal had seen its trail. "Nice shot, Frost!" he cried, and with another distinct crack the pilot's temple had been mutilated…and more than that had simply melted into the walls in a wave of sticky red blood. Formal smiled again before motioning with his hands – a gesture that 'magically' removed the knives from the deceased man's leg before finding themselves in another man's chest.  
  
"Protect the fort!" the megaphone blared as the FACtion soldiers assembled before the coffee shop, forming a wall between the Rangers that had moved into adjacent and nearby buildings, looking for better cover. Some were slowly progressing behind the chopper and other debris of the riots that had moved out of the area following the bombing of Tribeca and the Triborough Bridge.  
  
All were finding death from both Formal and Frost, who were both racking up unbelievable kill counts. Te FACtion soldiers proved to be nothing more than amusing targets for the Rangers, and they were suffering severe casualties. Even with the presence of Formal and Frost, many of the Rangers were intelligent enough to stay out of the open street, and by this time they had taken notice to Frost and Formal, seeing them as the only apparent threats.  
  
  
  
"Why didn't thy brief us on those two?!" one of the Rangers cried as he and another two were trekking up a flight of stairs in a building across from the coffee shop. "Damn! This is insane!" After reaching a landing, they moved through a series of dark, dank, and empty rooms in search of one clear view of the battlefield below.  
  
"In here!" one of them yelled, and the other two came running, but just as they had entered the room and had seen their fellow Ranger setting up a Barret .50 caliber rifle in the expanse of an open window they heard the familiar explosion of a sniper rifle and he flew to the floor of the room, his Barret falling through the window and into the open street.  
  
"Damn!" one of the Rangers exclaimed again. He heard several soldiers announcing similar obscenities through his headset and turned away from his fallen soldier. "This is Taylor!" he cried into the headset. "Three Bravo personnel, move to the chopper and retrieve the Gustav! All remaining units, provide heavy cover!" There were three prompt variations of 'affirmative' before he kneeled down beside the fallen soldier again. He put his hand to the man's forehead as if to stop the bleeding, but it was useless. "Haynes is down," he muttered into the headset, tears filling his eyes. Sniffing once and working to compose himself he stood. "And someone get that goddamn sniper!"  
  
  
  
There was movement in the adjacent buildings as Rangers prepared for their rush on the chopper. Formal could easily determine that they were planning a rush, but he was preoccupied with his swift handicraft of the knife to take proper notice. Frost on the other hand saw exactly what was happening.  
  
Through her scope – watching only a 10'x10' area – she saw surprisingly more than someone with a view of the entire street. She could see the determination in these soldiers' eyes, and their mouths chattering to each other as they waved gestures through the air, continuing a rapid progression through the buildings and to the streets. And in a moment all Ranger units had disappeared behind walls and behind debris and the scene settled.  
  
And for a time it was almost silent. Formal watched with patience, but Frost's eyes were dancing about the battlefield like kittens with cap-nip as something shrieked onto the street a few blocks to the right.  
  
Twisting and turning came a jeep, its top down and three figures huddled within. Frost's eyes darted to meet it, but when she had labeled it with her crosshairs there was the shifting of bodies and the shuffle of footsteps before her. Swinging back to the battlefield, every Ranger that had dropped was peaking out of a window or a doorway, providing cover for the three units that were dodging the rainfall of bullets to reach the Helix's hull.  
  
"Not today," she smiled. Firing once, the third Ranger in line took a terrible shot to the temple and as if in slow motion he began a delicate descent to the floor of the road, smacking hard on the pavement as the two proceeding Rangers slipped into the Helix.  
  
Leaving them for the moment, she looked back to the jeep…no one. 'Wha?' she thought, and there was an explosion of cement and gravel in her face as a bullet pierced the lip of the roof. Toppling backward, she landed on her back, quickly brushing her uniform of the dust before jerking around.  
  
There stood Snake, a Hammerli 280 in his hands and a grimace on his face. The sudden return of gunfire hinted at the reappearance of the Rangers from the Helix's hull. Looking over her shoulder, sniper rifle still at her side, she saw one of the men fall, the other making it to cover in one of the abandoned apartment buildings across the road.  
  
"Hmph," she grunted, Snake's face remaining stern and still.  
  
"Formal," he addressed her. She smiled in return.  
  
"Solid Snake," she touched her finger to her lip as if silencing him, "it is good to see you again. You wanted more?"  
  
"More of what?" he questioned.  
  
"More of me," she clarified. "I have missed you, Solid Snake. Can you honestly tell me that you have not missed me?"  
  
"Put down the rifle," he commanded and she frowned slightly, beginning to take it up in her arms and cradle it like a baby. "Put it down!" he cried, and she began to sway from left to right, the rifle cuddled to her breast.  
  
"You can't have me without her," she insisted.  
  
"What if I don't want you?" Snake asked, triggering a playful smile from Frost.  
  
"Then you'll just have to shoot me wont you?" she asked, and then there was a crack followed by a long, abnormal howl that etched its way through the battering winds that tossed Snake's headband around gaily. But it was not a merry scream, not a foreshadowing of living happily ever after. With that sound came something else.  
  
"Ah!" Frost cried as the bullet broke the skin of her back and bust into her bone. Sending a wave of compulsive pain through her muscles, her blood, and her bone she collapsed on the roof her sniper rifle clattering as it tumbled over the lip of the roof to the street below.  
  
Snake lowered his Hammerli 280 and hurried to her side, something of fright and composition painted on his full-colored skin as he knelt beside her. She was breathing fine, but blood was beginning to flow out of her back, forming a thin pool of crimson at the edges of her body. Looking beyond Snake's eyes, she saw that vast sky and smiled lightly, still disrupt with pain.  
  
"I've never seen it so big," she whispered. Snake looked at her oddly, but sympathetically still.  
  
"Huh?" he asked and she winced as another stab of pain ran down her spine, branching off to every part of her body. Waiting a moment, her eyes closed as she dealt with the pain internally, she looked up again with a blissful look about her.  
  
"The sky," she said, taking a deep breath, "I never saw I so big. It's always been behind a set of crosshairs…always just a background," she managed to get out before choking slightly. Her hand grasped Snake's wrist, but this time he didn't fight it, and this time it wasn't a move to invoke passion…she was frightened.  
  
"I've always watched…just concentrating on one little thing…one little person," she took a shaking breath as her eyes began to fill with tears, the sun reflecting in the pools. "I…never took the time to look at the big picture…never admired…just killed." Like a streak of glimmering sun light, the pools broke over their edges and bore rapid-flowing rivers in her cheeks as she blinked wildly, trying to disguise her pain.  
  
"I'm no stranger," Snake told her. Frost's eyes turned to him and he saw their cool blue pupils, almost frozen. "You can cry in front of me," he assured her, and her eyes drifted back to the clear blue ocean above them.  
  
"I was always searching for love," she told him, "but not…not really love. All I could find was passion," she paused, sucking up the pain as her bones seemed to bend beyond their limits but staying in tact as to not let her escape the torture.  
  
"You were looking in the wrong places," Snake told her, the gunfight below seeming as still as a lifeless corpse to the two. "You're a sniper. Snipers never look up; they always look down. But there's never anything more than gray and brown there…gray, brown, and a target." He turned away for a moment and felt her hand tighten around his wrist.  
  
"You're leaving," she said, and he turned back to her almost stunned, but somewhat grateful she had not let him think of leaving. "Don't leave…I cant die alone," she breathed, her eyes full of sadness but also a longing for joy. "I don't want to die alone."  
  
Snake looked into her eyes, torn between sentiment and repose. Her eyes shining like the brilliant sun itself, he covered his sadness and his compassion, as well as his passive norm and watched her.  
  
"I don't want…don't want to be another forgotten memento…something you just throw away…or…toss in the back of a garbage truck," she confessed. "There's a place for me…isn't there?" Snake tried to sympathize with her, but thought it best not to respond.  
  
"Please," she tried, her pupils contracting as they began to absorb the light of the sky. "Please, Solid Snake…don't let me go alone." And then, as her grip loosened around Snake's wrist, his eyes closing tight and her pupils dilating again like giant crystals, the light was pulled into them – the sky falling into darkness under a hovering cloud – and her tears…  
  
They froze like the first frost of winter. 


	25. A Perfect Mesh

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Perfect Mesh  
  
  
  
"Fire!" a Ranger's voice called, its origin moving into a doorway opposite Formal and the FACtion troops. Still separated by the street, Formal's eyes immediately grappled onto the fairly slim tube rested upon the Ranger's shoulder, and when the smoke hissed about the area a burning rocket propelled forward to break the wet of heat and swim through the humid air. But as the Ranger's face grew bright, five shimmering objects spun forth, erecting a wall of air before the coffee house as the FACtion soldiers ducked – Formal holding his arms out straight as if reinforcing his barrier.  
  
And then the steel-clad rocket tore itself apart in a mesh of red and yellow, its body breaking against the firmness of Formal's defense. He shuddered and stumbled slightly as the smoke and fire curled around the edges of his wall and licked at the pavement sending a scolding wash of warm rubble at him and his comrades.  
  
Quickly, the smoke shrouded the area, pushing heavy against the coffee house windows as Formal sought an untainted breath in the midst of an airfield of gray and black poison. The flames still scorched the road as well as the barrier that remained floating in the air, and the battlefield became quiet despite the coughing and choking that served as the only assurance of survival amid the cloud.  
  
And with his hands he felt the street, searching vainly for guidance until he came upon something familiarly bulky. Its shell smooth and sleek, he opened his eyes only slightly as he lifted the object and curled it in his arms. Cuddled in his chest was a gun. Frost's sniper rifle.  
  
"Frost," he stated unbelievingly. The rifle falling absentmindedly from his grasp, it clattered on the pavement and the cloud began to part, the Ranger fire returning. In a fit of rage, his heart racing, he turned and grabbed the collar of a wounded FACtion soldiers' uniform and sent four knives before him – creating a step.  
  
Beginning upward, four more knives made the outline of another step, and then those of the first step rearranged themselves ahead of him to form yet another. The process continued seamlessly as he raced upward, the knives darting this way and that in a frenzied misdirection, as if confused. To his right, the wall that had guarded him from the Ranger rocket floated alongside; never letting the Ranger fire that had immediately been redirected at him, graze his clammy skin.  
  
"Reload the Gustav!" he heard one of the Rangers cry, and with an angry jerk, he sent three glimmering knives through another Ranger's chest – the one that held the Gustav tightly in his arms. Then, ignoring the knives that remained deep within the man's body, the stairs continued to build upon themselves until he could see Snake's head drifting over the concrete lip of the roof.  
  
Sending the accompanying FACtion soldier through the air to the roof surface, he took a defiant step atop the lip and all remaining knives flew into his now opened jacket. Snake's head whipped first to the soldier who laid nearly unconscious next to him, and then up to the figure balanced on the edge of the rooftop. Seeing the silhouette hanging menacingly in the sun's bright orange glare, he pulled forth his Hammerli and aimed it in the vague direction of Formal whose eyes had fallen over Frost's cold body.  
  
He did not bother to button his suit jacket, nor did he hold out his knives as bargaining chips, but watched without feeling or sight…with numbness and question. So many questions coursed through his mind…so many questions, and then: "You?"  
  
Snake cocked his head slightly, not moving the Hammerli from its target. Formal removed his shades and slipped them into his pocket while taking a step down from the lip of the roof. Snake watched him oddly. "You did this?" There was more. The voice…it was not coming from the soldier beside Snake, nor was it coming from Frost…but from Formal. The words had been spoken in an entirely foreign tone, but one that he had somehow always known.  
  
"You speak," Snake stated in something of surprise and awe. Formal discarded the remark and took another step, Snake forcing his Hammerli on him with a fiercer grip of the trigger.  
  
"Did you kill her?! Tell me, now!" Formal bolted forward, his face filled with rage, and Snake fired. Not once…or twice, or even three times…he fired every available round at his disposal, and only inches from Frost, there were four holes in his suit – those having been deflected – and one in either shoulder where blood was trickling from deep within.  
  
He had stopped there, still standing, but his legs crumpling beneath him. His face was frozen in shock, and his heart was still with pain – both from Frost's death and his newborn wounds…his only wounds. Then he collapsed on the floor, falling beside Frost and only feet from Snake. Tilting his head to the right, he looked at Snake in sadness and then over to Frost in regret.  
  
"You…didn't kill her," Formal breathed, slightly choking. Snake watched him, unsure of whether he was to answer or not. But Formal continued. "I…loved her. I…I do love her." He choked lightly, and then turned his head up to the sky, his eyes beginning to swell with tears. He bit his lip and exhaled before continuing.  
  
"My life was hell before…the only thing I found…all that I found that was the slightest bit comforting…was you, Frost." Snake set his Hammerli beside him, and the FACtion soldier watched. "The diamond…in the rough. The reason…I joined FACtion was for you. I kept things from you, and…I'm sorry for that. And…I'm sorry I never got to say…goodbye." Formal's eyes began to close.  
  
"No," Snake interjected. Formal looked absently at him. "I didn't kill her," he assured him, and a light smile broke as his lips spread wider.  
  
"I…knew you hadn't," Formal smiled. "You couldn't save her…but…you stayed with her. I wasn't here for her…I never was." Snake shook his head.  
  
"Wrong," he said. "Maybe she didn't see it, but you were always there. I'm no counselor, and I haven't had much experience with love," he paused, remembering Meryl, "but I know enough." Formal lightly touched Snake's arm and then let it slide over Frost's hand.  
  
"Thank you," he sighed, and a noise began to grow off in the direction he had come from. Squinting his eyes, and standing, a mass of soldiers were marching through the street – guns in hand. Looking at them more closely, he saw that they came from the warehouse.  
  
"Ocelot," he breathed, and there was a light chuckle from where Formal lay. Snake turned back to him and crouched at his side again.  
  
"That man," Formal began, "is a fool…a wretched, disgusting, evil fool. He will die today. You will kill him." Snake discarded the remark as Formal had done before, and turned his worries back to the marching soldiers. They were coming closer, and the battle between the Rangers and FACtion soldiers was cooling down, the Rangers advancing across the street.  
  
"Snake!" a familiar voice called from behind. Turning to its origin, Snake saw three figures beside the ladder. Fox, Jack, and Otacon – who had spoken.  
  
Snake hurried over to them, and Otacon greeted him with a hug while Jack's eyes had fallen over Formal who was looking in the opposite direction.  
  
"You killed him?" Jack questioned. Snake shook his head.  
  
"He's holding on," he replied. "What's next?"  
  
"Ocelot's sentries from the warehouse are moving up the street," Otacon answered. "I managed to decipher some of the records from the Compilation," he gestured to the laptop under his arm. "They're heading for World Trade Center Tower 1 as soon as they have the FACtion threat neutralized."  
  
"So the enemy is playing tag-team?" Snake joked and Otacon shrugged.  
  
"FACtion could be wiped out in a few more minutes, and we cant afford a second's loss," Otacon answered. "I contacted the UN, and they managed to salvage a transport. We'll have a chopper in here in minutes to move us to Tower One."  
  
Snake nodded, and looked back at Formal. He hesitated, and then said: "Do we have room for an extra passenger?" Jack and Otacon both realized who he was referring to, and both were in protest while Jack was the only one to voice his opposition.  
  
"We're playing tag-team too?" he questioned angrily, and Formal turned his head to them. Snake took the comment hard. "I'm not in control of things here, but I never knew you to trade sides," he said with slight sarcasm regarding the events that had conspired at the Big Shell.  
  
"He could live," Snake assured them. "I'm not one to sympathize with the enemy, but –"  
  
Suddenly, there was an uproar of gunshots, and as Snake hurried to the lip of the roof, looking over the street, he saw Ocelot's sentries nearly there, and less than ten FACtion soldiers standing. At that same instant, the sound of a helicopter was growing increasingly loud and Snake spotted one weaving through the skyscrapers.  
  
"Without his weapons!" Ocelot yelled – at Jack's displeasure – to Snake. He nodded in return, and quickly went to Formal's side, and kneeling beside him.  
  
"We're getting you out of here," Snake said, and Formal looked at him woozily. Quickly pulling off his jacket, letting the white shirt beneath it stay, Snake threw the jacket aside and checked to make sure there was not a single knife in Formal's possession. "Good," he said, and then the helicopter was upon them, hovering above.  
  
A rope ladder fell down from the chopper's open door as there was an uncomforting rise in gunfire below. "They're here," Snake proclaimed, realizing Ocelot's sentries had arrived.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon yelled from the bottom of the ladder, Jack almost inside. Snake nodded, and Otacon started upward. "You're gonna have to help me, here. Try and stand up," Snake told Formal.  
  
He was unresponsive as Snake lifted his body off the roof, trying to stand him upright. Seeing that he could not stand alone, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and began to pull him upward. The sounds of the chopper and the urgency of the situation below made them all tense, and Fox at this point had disappeared onto the streets – once again leaving Snake's team to fight with his own.  
  
"Gotcha," Snake said, but just then there was a terrible shriek followed by a jolting explosion and a wave of metal, concrete, and wood as the front of the coffee house took the impact of a rocket.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon yelled again, this time from the helicopter's hull. The roof was beginning to collapse, and Formal had fallen to his knees with the instability of the building, as well as his feeble legs. "Snake! Run!" Snake felt the roof waver in stress, its form cracking and twisting wildly. "Leave him!" Otacon wailed, but Snake couldn't.  
  
"Stand up!" he cried, and just as he had gotten Formal onto his feet, he saw the FACtion soldier at their feet move quickly.  
  
"For FACtion!" he screamed, and there was another wretched cry of metal. Only this time, it found something more than concrete and metal and wood. This time it found flesh.  
  
More than six deep holes had been etched into Formal's stomach and chest, and when Snake realized what had happened, Formal coughed again sending blood onto the cracking roof. Whipping to the left, Snake saw the FACtion soldier beside Frost, his AKu-74 in hand, and Formal's jacket at his side.  
  
With one shot, leaving the barrel of Snake's Hammerli, the FACtion soldier lay dead, and Formal stumbled onto his back. Snake kneeled beside him, seeing that he was trying to whisper, and he listened. He put his ear to Formal's lips and he listened…listened closely.  
  
"You were there with her…and you are here with me…now." Then, with a final breath, his chest fell and his eyelids slid shut, leaving Snake with those last words, uttered not through a mask, but through its host. They had been uttered in Formal's own, pure tone, and they would never fade. They would never die.  
  
Without speaking, Snake looked over the two – Formal and Frost – and when he came to their hands he saw them interlocked.  
  
"Love lasts forever," Snake muttered as he stood, and after retrieving Formal's jacket and sun glasses and setting them at his side, he turned to the rope ladder, and as the roof began to give way, he grabbed the third rung and the chopper lifted away.  
  
The wind swept past him freely, and the sun burned bright as it continued to fall through the sky, nearing the horizon and casting a beautiful setting over the city. The buildings were black jets of metal, jutting up in the foreground of a magnificent painting, and as the war raged on below, two hearts had been forged atop the distant roof. And Snake looked up to where Otacon and Jack sat, looking down at him in sorrow and comfort as friends.  
  
And it all hung in the balance. The fighting, the love, the friendship, the beauty…it all lived on in the same moment, and together it was magnificent, together it was perfect. It was perfect.  
  
A perfect mesh. 


	26. Under A'Hundred Heavy Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Six: Under A'Hundred Heavy Eyes  
  
  
  
"Snake!" Otacon called as the rotors stirred the wind around them with tremendous force. Snake looked upward, his right arm tightly gripping the third rung of the ladder and his legs dangling carelessly below. "Climb up!" Otacon concluded, and Snake pulled himself upward, wrapping his legs on either side of the bottom rung and moving his hands onto the fifth. The bottom of the ladder bowed out to the right under Snake's force and he waited there for a moment, as if sitting back in a nest of air.  
  
Admiring the vista, the sunset growingly beautiful, he heard a loud crash as the coffee house crumbled. He was wary to look to the remains, knowing that Formal and Frost were among the ruins, but he turned his glance toward the rubble and watched as four armored vehicles – lead by a jeep – raced through the narrow streets and alleys of the surrounding areas, searching aimlessly for shelter until the time was right to proceed.  
  
Like the soldier atop the coffee house, others had died to protect Dante, but their efforts were fruitless. They had held up against a number of Army Rangers for quite some time, but when Ocelot's sentries had arrived their number was up. Each and every one of them died to protect the fort, and still Dante was forced from it, to flee the marching soldiers.  
  
And then, forcing the realization that FACtion had survived from his mind, Snake continued up the ladder until he had reached the hull of the helicopter and had climbed within and found a wall to lean against. He rested his back against the steel walls, and elevated his knees, setting his elbows on them and letting his chin touch his chest. Otacon had moved into the second pilot seat, and Jack was further back, resting in a giant bed of spare, unmarked uniforms and first aid equipment – seemingly more comfortable than it truly was.  
  
"There was another release of the Manhattan Resident," Otacon remarked, looking around the back of his seat. "The UN contacted the Press Circle and managed to send me a copy through the computer." Otacon quickly unbuckled himself and ducked into the open body of the helicopter where Snake sat. He opened the two pieces of his laptop and set it on the floor of the chopper, moving beside Snake to help point out important articles.  
  
"There wasn't much," he proclaimed. "Most of Manhattan is on the streets, so there isn't much developing behind the scenes that reporters would be able to figure out, but there are a couple articles that stood out. Nothing with substantial information, but…here," he said pointing to an article on the third 'page' of the digitally reproduced newspaper. "Until Death do us Part," he said, reciting the headline. Moving the laptop onto his lap, he read the article aloud.  
  
"The Triborough Bridge and parts of the Tribeca area were demolished this afternoon. Believed to be retaliation against the citizen riots that have successfully taken control of several enemy strongholds throughout the city, we ask that any and all participating in these acts withdraw. Please – Manhattan is little compared to our lives, and those of our loved ones. It is essential that the riots stop. There is no telling what they will do now."  
  
That was the entire article, certainly a small one, but Otacon quickly scrolled through the paper until he found another line of bold, black text stating "Enemies Unveiled." He smacked his lips together and then began.  
  
"The agency FACtion, which earlier forfeited its identity to the press, and to the public, has introduced explosives, putting new leverage on the situation. But, even as these terrible tragedies have conspired, reporters from 'The Manhattan Resident' have contacted the UN and have managed to piece together some of the puzzle.  
  
"Months ago, a weapons stockpile was attacked, seized, and emptied of its supplies. Believed to be somewhere in the Middle East, contacts in Russia have claimed that the stockpile was within their borders, and went by the codename 'Trinket.' The United Nations believe that after raiding the stockpile, the suspects fled to Cuba where they assembled their forces and hid their supplies until the time came to strike their primary target: Manhattan Island.  
  
"Nearly one week ago, a number of men landed on the coast of the United States, and quickly established homes after consulting governmental agents on immigration terms. They found homage in New York City, charting with them several heavy-armored vehicles and weapons that had gone unnoticed in the hull of a tanker going by the name of 'Discovery.'" Snake's eyes suddenly opened wide, and Otacon looked at him wearily. "The rest is just about them flying into the city, but you remember Discovery don't you?"  
  
"That was over three years ago," Snake said, and Jack quickly slid over near them, interested in the conversation. "It can't be the same one."  
  
"It's not," Otacon admitted, "but I think that their intentions may have been similar."  
  
"Hmm?" Snake questioned. Otacon was delighted by Snake's yearning to know more, and cleared his throat before continuing.  
  
"The U.S.S. Discovery was the tanker used to transport Metal Gear Ray from the Manhattan Harbor to another position, one that we couldn't determine by the conclusion of our mission. Nonetheless, it was leaving Manhattan, just as this tanker is arriving. Seeing that Discovery was rigged with SEMTEX and blown out of the water, there's no way that the very tanker could be in Manhattan now. But, I think that the name Discovery is not a title – rather a codename. The codename used for missions regarding the transportation of Metal Gear prototypes." Snake looked at Otacon as if estranged. "There's a Metal Gear in that tanker."  
  
"So you think the U.S. government charters Metal Gears around the world?" Snake asked.  
  
"Snake, Manhattan is obviously a center for the Patriot network, and I think that the Metal Gears are very much connected with the Patriots." Snake was still rather confused. "Listen, Snake. I think that the U.S.S. Discovery has brought a new Metal Gear prototype to the coast of Manhattan – for whatever reason – but that this reason is very similar to that of Metal Gear Ray."  
  
"So, they're trying to frame me again?" Snake mocked.  
  
"Not at all," Otacon explained. "The intention of Metal Gear Ray was not to frame you. Ocelot just managed to pull that off on the side. Why it was passing through Manhattan is beyond me, but we can't ignore the fact that another tanker, similar in name to that of the one that carried Ray, is in Manhattan for more reasons than to bring over some armored vehicles. That's certainly not the case."  
  
"Well, what if it is?" Snake commented.  
  
"Well, it isn't," Otacon proclaimed, and at tat moment the pilot of the helicopter turned around the back of his seat and called: "We're almost there!" The pilot nestled himself back into his chair, and Otacon turned to Snake and Jack again.  
  
"Otacon, forget about Discovery," Snake commanded. "We need your concentration on the mission." Otacon nodded reluctantly, realizing that Snake was right in his request.  
  
Meanwhile, Jack had moved to the open door of the helicopter and was watching as the two World Trade Center towers came closer and closer after every passing moment. Turning to the others, he said, "They're going up fast!" Referring to the towers, Otacon sported a smile like one would use to reassure a little child in efforts towards becoming the next Mozart or Raphael.  
  
"All right!" the pilot cried. "I'm taking her down!" Slowly, the helicopter descended through the air, coming closer to the street in a smooth fashion. Several blocks away, the Rangers and Ocelot's sentries were breaking up the riots and beginning to move the civilians away from the World Trade Center area, creating a large, open circle of roads, buildings, and street lamps.  
  
"They're cooperating," Jack said, noticing the civilians who were moving back generously for Ocelot's sentries and the Rangers. Snake looked at him and chuckled.  
  
"Anyone who wears the flag is welcome here," he said, and Jack nodded – not really paying attention – before looking off into the expanse of blue and orange heavens, contrasted deeply by the grays of the pavement. Otacon turned to Snake and pulled something from his deep jacket pocket, its weight bringing down his hand.  
  
"Here," he said, holding a SOCOM pistol out for Snake. "Found it in the back," he added with a smile as Snake took the gun up in his hands, massaging his eyes with its elegance and its beauty. Turning his glance up to Otacon, he grinned slightly.  
  
"You wanna try it out?" he offered, forcing it on Otacon who quickly backed away, waving his hands in the air.  
  
"No way, Snake," he waved his finger. "I get my job done with this," he gestured to his laptop before turning toward Jack. Before he could move away, Snake grabbed his upper arm, and he glanced back at him quizzically.  
  
"Thanks, pal," Snake said, and with a bright, accepting smile Otacon moved next to Jack, folding up his laptop and bracing his right hand against the wall as he looked out.  
  
"I'll set her down, but get out fast – don't want to risk taking on enemy fire!" the pilot hollered over the annoying spin of the rotors. Snake nodded unconsciously, and moved beside Otacon and Jack, peering out of the door and watching as the pavements came up to their faces. "Now!" the pilot cried, and they all felt the helicopter jerk before touching down upon the pavement.  
  
Pushing themselves from the hull of the helicopter they jumped safely onto the sidewalk, composing themselves and standing immediately after impact. Turning to the pilot of the helicopter, they saw him raise his hand to his eyebrow – the beginning of a salute. Snake lifted his own hand, as did Jack and Otacon though less eloquently and more rigid, and dropped it again with honor painted a hundred times on his forehead. The pilot smiled as he lowered his hand to his side, and just as Snake, Otacon, and Jack began to turn away they heard a gun fire, flesh break, blood splash, and glass crack.  
  
Twisting back to the helicopter, the pilot's head was drooped over his shoulder, and blood had shrouded the windows and controls. Noting a general- sized hole in the window on the other side of the helicopter, Snake pulled out his SOCOM and gestured for Otacon and Jack to get down, but before they even had the time, a voice broke over the sound of the dying rotors.  
  
"Welcome!" it called, menacingly through the air. Snake looked this way and that, noticing the tone, but searching for the origin. He could see cranes and machines littering the open cement area where he stood – at the foot of both the World Trade Center towers – each nearly 13 stories complete. There were mounds of dirt and metal and steel, and the site had obviously been evacuated with the dawning of the FACtion invasion.  
  
Then, the rotors halted and the almost-echoing footsteps started to pace the cement floor, little shaking, shimmering sounds heralding the clap of boots. Slowly, the sounds moved across the cement, and Jack had pulled forth an M9 standard sidearm – one he had smuggled from the supplies in the back of the helicopter. They continued…slowly as ever, menacingly as ever, quiet and loud as ever…and then, as a shadow walked out from behind the helicopter, passing in front of it…the tune paused and another took center stage.  
  
A quiet twisting of the air spun loose from the shadow's origin, sending occasional streams of reflected light across the cement and the surrounding pieces of machinery and metal. It was something so small, so insignificant…something that Snake heard after the end of every tense duel…and then it stopped, muffled by a cage of leather and hide. And with two more clapping footsteps, the figure followed the path of its shadow and moved out in front of the helicopter, a grin on its face and two stars on its waist.  
  
"Ocelot!" Snake exclaimed, his grip intensified about the handle of his SOCOM, and his finger ready to pull the trigger at any moment.  
  
"Snake," Ocelot returned with a subtle wave of his gloved hand. "I have not seen you in so long…at least not directly. One could debate that we were just meeting in the house of the Compilation, but…oh, who would debate on such a topic? I am here to welcome you to our new arena. Embassy Square!" Ocelot threw out his arms, holding them wide as if expecting a hug. It seemed to be one of his default gestures.  
  
"Embassy Square?" Jack questioned with a grunt, and Ocelot's eyes shifted over him with a sudden intensity.  
  
"The gathering place of the Six Points," Ocelot proclaimed. "It is the universal embassy…the pinnacle of prosper…the origin of organization. One size fits all…a feast for the numbers…here is where the world's truly important matters are sorted out. Right here, in Tower One of the World Trade Center," he said with a smile. "It is the beating heart of this world."  
  
"Hmph," Snake groaned. "Rather the tumor." Ocelot scowled at him, and with distaste in his tone he called back.  
  
"Perhaps, if you manage to stay alive I will be able to introduce you to these six…tumors, as you call them. But, I will not attempt to foretell the future…instead, I will simply watch. You must be patient with time," he commented, and then pivoted on the heel of his boot as a hundred voices cried out in unison from behind: "Freeze!"  
  
Snake, whose finger sat tensely upon the worn trigger of his SOCOM, gestured for Jack to lower his gun and pivoted just as Ocelot had until stopping before a mass of Ocelot's sentries – their guns aimed and ready.  
  
"You made it in time for the parade, boys!" Ocelot wailed happily. "If I never see you again, this will be the very moment by which I will remember you!" And then, Ocelot was hidden within Tower One, and Snake, Jack, and Otacon all stood tense.  
  
  
  
And under a hundred heavy eyes, their hearts stopped beating. 


	27. The Voice

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Voice  
  
  
  
  
  
"On your knees!" a sentry cried. Snake scanned the masses, taking special notice to their uniforms. As far as he could tell, there was no identification on them at all. "Now!" the sentry cried again, and Snake reluctantly waved Otacon and Jack down after doing it himself.  
  
Shaking his AK-47, the leading sentry waited for three others to pat the three down. Snake watched as they came forth, cupping his hands about the back of his head as they moved their hands over his upper body, throwing any firearms or ammunition onto the cement before the leading sentry.  
  
When one of them had gone for Snake's pockets, he snatched the man's arm in his hand and looked him in the eye. "Maybe we should slow down," he grinned, and then felt the butt of a rifle press forcefully into his chest, sending a wave of realization through his body that made every scar he'd ever inherited sting like a raging fire. He winced and fell onto his back before two more sentries stood him upright again.  
  
His eyes barely closed and his chest aching, he heard the crackle of a radio. Opening his eyes instantly, he watched as the leading sentry gripped the radio mounted against his collarbone in anticipation of a calling sent through the narrow-structured headphones on his head.  
  
"Don't kill him," he voice requested. In shock, the leading sentry covered his radio and turned to another man beside him. "The American," he whispered before releasing his grip on the radio again.  
  
"Sir?" the sentry questioned. "What should we do with him?"  
  
"I will be back from the harbor in due time," the man – as it was implied – said. "Take him to Tower One…the basement floor. Do the same with the others, and make sure that the Snake is alive when I return."  
  
The sentry almost thought to salute, but once realizing that they were not speaking in person he discarded the thought. "Y-Yes sir. I'll see to it personally." Snake looked at the sentry with displeasure, and the man looked back in fear – not of Snake, but of the man on the radio.  
  
"Do not hesitate, though, to award them with rest," the man chuckled. "You might be better off carrying them there than escorting them there." The sentry understood. 'Knock 'em out and get the job done,' he thought. 'That's all ya gotta do.'  
  
Then, there was the returning crackle of the radio as the American ended the transmission and switched channels. Snake looked up at the sentry again, remembering the man's location…as well as his voice.  
  
"All right," the leader began, "I want four men to help me take these three to the basement. The rest of you, take your posts and start running your shifts. Embassy Square is to be a fortress. There is no room for error!"  
  
And then, with the affirmation of the many sentries in the area, and without any chance to do otherwise, Snake fell heavily to the cement – his last emotion being fear. He knew who was on the radio, but when the butt of a rifle pinned itself upon his forehead he no longer knew anything…  
  
  
  
"Sir?" a man called and knocked. Ocelot turned away from the vista of Manhattan through a twelfth floor office window, and stood patiently behind his desk, thinking to himself.  
  
"Come in," he finally answered, and the leading sentry who had spoken earlier with the American, stepped into the room. He was nervous and it showed. Ocelot looked on hi with something of amusement and held his arms out before him, offering the sentry a seat in front of his light-oak desk. "Take a seat."  
  
The man did as he was told, fearing the consequences were he to deny the accommodation. Ocelot did the same, dropping lightly into his leather chair and easing back against it as the sentry moved onto the edge of his own.  
  
"The defenses have been readied, sir," the sentry confirmed. "All units have moved to their posts. The fort is secure." Ocelot smiled.  
  
"And what of Snake?" Ocelot questioned. The sentry seemed rather uneasy answering the question, but after a long moment's hesitation – one that disclosed his nervousness to Ocelot – he replied.  
  
"We're holding him, along with the others, in the basement level," the sentry said, and Ocelot nodded thankfully.  
  
"Did they put up a fight?" Ocelot asked, and the sentry shook his head.  
  
"They were fairly compliant," he said. "We had to put Solid Snake in a temporary sleep to be safe, but the three of them are in good condition."  
  
Ocelot moved onto the edge of his seat and rested his elbows on the desktop before him, smiling for a moment and then looking into the sentry's eyes with a look of parental affection. "Tell me, why didn't you kill him?"  
  
The sentry was taken aback by the question, and jumped when he realized that Ocelot had indeed asked it. Swallowing hard, sweat began to bead on his forehead, moving rapidly down his face. "I-I thought that maybe you could…get something from them. I though they might know something…something you needed to know." Ocelot nodded acceptingly and then stood and walked over to the window, looking over the city again.  
  
"Have you, by any chance, spoken with the American yet?" Ocelot asked, still admiring the view. He could hear the sentry shift awkwardly in his chair and waited for an answer.  
  
"W-Why do you ask, sir?" the sentry questioned in return, putting a smile on Ocelot's face – one he marveled at in his reflection.  
  
"No reason," Ocelot answered. "I just, haven't heard from him in some time. I wonder if he's still at the harbor. You wouldn't know, would you?" he asked. The sentry shifted again.  
  
"O-Of course not, sir," he breathed.  
  
"Good," Ocelot paused. "Because if you had, I would have to do this." Turning quickly, a revolver was all ready in hand, and with the sentry's horrified expression the trigger was pulled.  
  
There was a crack and a soft-sounding impact as the bullet tore through the sentry's chest, finding its way through the center of his heart and stopping abruptly against his shoulder blade – crushing it with ease. Blood had filled the gap in his chest and when he slid off of the chair and onto the carpet, a long crimson streak stained his path.  
  
Spinning his revolver into its holster, he pushed firmly on a button atop his desk, activating an intercom. "Cleanup on floor twelve," he announced, a tone of mockery in his voice. Letting his finger off the button, he looked down at the sentry and pondered. "I wonder what that American is up to," and then he stepped briskly out the door and down the hall to the elevator.  
  
  
  
The feeling was blissful. Of course, the initial blow was nothing he wanted to remember, but when he had woken it was far from memory anyway. Finding himself in a dank cell, no idea as to where he had become or why he had become, a wave of questions as well as carelessness washed over him. The minutes prior to his entrance to the world of sleep were blurred and out of grasp, but the rest of the morning was coming back to him in strides. He sat there, elbows on his knees and chin on his fist, as the day returned to him and played itself through time and time again until he remembered it all.  
  
He had started on a boat, en route to Manhattan for a mission to save a record of any and all operations made by the Compilation before it was trampled by ten bulldozers. Then, he had seen helicopters, and he was forced off of the boat by a number of troops dressed in black trench coats – entirely unfitting for the summer day that it was.  
  
After swimming to shore, he'd met up with Jack and had moved to a restaurant to meet with a member of the UFAC and to get an update on their mission status. But, that went sour when Formal – who had miraculously survived an attempt on his life in Hell's Outpost – blew the front of the restaurant into shards of brick and glass, also killing the UFAC agent they'd been meeting with.  
  
Then, he remembered the waitress who had winked at him…she was UFAC too, but after remembering the rest it became clear to him that she was not UFAC, but FACtion…and with that he realized that FACtion was much more than the soldiers he'd encountered and the Officers in charge of the unit. It was comprised of many more than that…but it made him wonder. 'Were there any others that he knew? Any that were working for FACtion?'  
  
"Here he is," a guard announced, and a familiar face appeared behind the bars.  
  
"Ocelot," Snake sneered as the guard unlocked the cell door, letting Ocelot step inside. He decided not to sit on the one pullout bed in the room – one Snake occupied – but instead opted to stand. "Your men aren't up to par. Afraid to put me to sleep for good."  
  
"Ah," Ocelot nodded, "this is not my bidding. You are just as good to me dead as you are alive. You are no longer my concern, but I had some time to spare. And so, here I am." Snake snickered.  
  
"Where's Otacon?" Snake asked.  
  
"He's being held in another cell," Ocelot answered.  
  
"And Jack?"  
  
"He is just the same. Do not worry about them, Snake, they won't be going anywhere soon." Ocelot stood. "And neither will you." Snake frowned at the thought. "So, Solid Snake, you wanted my Compilation. Why is that?"  
  
"I was only doing a job," Snake answered.  
  
"What is it that you are looking for, Snake?" He moved closer to Snake. Much closer. "What are you searching for?"  
  
Snake felt the urge to kill Ocelot right then, and right there, but he knew that it wouldn't happen. If he managed, he would be shot down immediately, and as long as the Six Points were alive the Patriot's network would survive. "Maybe you are the one to ask," he challenged. Ocelot smiled.  
  
"Why whatever do you mean? I am hiding nothing. In time…in time you will know everything, the whole world will. It will be no secret then," Ocelot proposed. "Until that time, this is your home. Sorry if it seems cramped, but it's just an illusion. The walls are dark. That can make any room look smaller." With a smile, he turned away, and the guard went to the cell door and rustled through his ring of keys before finding the right one and slipping it into the slot.  
  
"The American," Snake interjected, forcing Ocelot to become still. "Who is he?"  
  
He was silent.  
  
"An asset," he answered. "A very important asset."  
  
"You don't trust him?" Snake questioned. "He wanted me alive, and you wanted me dead. If he's as important as you say, why would you be working against him behind the scenes?"  
  
He was silent, and with the clatter of metal on metal, the doors slid open, and he stepped into the dark hall beyond the cell.  
  
"Do not let your attention wander," he muttered to the guard. "The American will be through here. Do not let him pass." With a nod, the cell doors slid shut and the Patriot began to fade into the darkness of the corridor.  
  
And then, when Snake thought he had finally sorted out what had happened in the last day, he realized that he was forgetting one thing…one thing he could simply not put his finger on.  
  
  
  
The voice. 


	28. When Day Has Gone and Come Again

Chapter Twenty-Eight: When Day Has Gone and Come Again  
  
  
  
"Stop here!" Dante yelled from the back seat of an armored transport. "Here!" he cried again, and finally the driver had stopped. The driver picked the radio up from its base on the dashboard and held his thumb firmly on its button.  
  
"Stop here," he exclaimed, and the rest of the vehicles - along with a jeep - stopped around them. Jumping up from his seat in rage, he ducked to the door in the middle row of seats and pushed it wide open, stumbling onto the dry alley floor. Quickly, the others emerged from their transports and stood before him. A FACtion soldier in black uniform helped Colonel Campbell out of one of the armored vehicles and stood at his side - gun in hand.  
  
"Where are the 1st Officers?" he asked the nearest uniformed man who saluted hastily and went on to answer.  
  
"They are somewhere in the city, sir," the man replied. Dante's face melted into a look of disgust.  
  
"Somewhere in the city?!" he roared. "Get them on the radio," he ordered as the man before him remained still with fear. "NOW!" Saluting him once more, the man ducked into the front seat of the jeep and began to fiddle with the dials on the radio console.  
  
"Sir?" Another man questioned. Dante turned to him rigidly and looked to the man's left where there stood Mei Ling and Naomi. "What are we to do with them?"  
  
Turning away, Dante walked toward the wall of a bordering building and braced his hands against the dirty bricks. His eyes were closed tight and his breathing was slowing rapidly. He inhaled deeply and then pushed off the wall again, turning to face them before falling back against the wall - his back to it. A twisted smile came over him as his eyes surveyed the two women.  
  
Pausing for a moment, his mouth slightly open but no words escaping, he cocked his head and something twinkled in his eye. "We need a new location.a hotel, perhaps?" Mei Ling and Naomi both realized his intentions. "We'll set up camp there, and maybe.maybe we'll find some time alone?" He pushed off the wall and began to walk steadily toward the two, his eyes glued to their bodies - which were unsurprisingly fit.  
  
Stopping between the two, he turned to Naomi first and set his hand on her shoulder.lightly enough to give comfort, but tightly enough to prevent any confusion as to who was in control. Smiling at her, he turned to Mei Ling and ran his hand through her silk-like hair, its smooth touch moisturizing his hands and sending a wave of purity through him. Leaning toward her, he spoke quietly into her ear: "I will make time for you."  
  
Mei Ling's eyes did not burn with fury, but rather fear. Tears began to swell into pools around her eyes, and only when Dante had turned back to the jeep did she blink, letting the salty sin drip down her cheeks and well at the tip of her chin before letting the stingy concrete swallow them up with its heat - having been exposed all day to the sweltering sun.  
  
"Sir," the uniformed man called from the jeep. He was waving the radio in his hand, and Dante had raised his index finger to make sure Mei Ling and Naomi both knew he would not be long. Pacing toward the jeep, he snatched up the radio and pressed his thumb on the side button.  
  
"Dante," he stated, identifying himself to the officer. He waited, hearing an odd hiss in the radio, followed by an eerie slithering voice, no louder than a whisper:  
  
"Master, I offer you my services," she hissed. Dante took a seat in the driver's spot and looked over the dashboard, monitoring the activity ahead of him. "What are my orders?"  
  
"Esher," Dante said aloud, "take the others with you to Tower One. Do whatever you must," he paused. "I want the Patriot dead before sunup."  
  
"Understood," she confirmed. And then the radio went silent.there was a click.and the crackle of absent conversation quickly ceased when Dante clicked off the power. Looking over the crowd he noticed one member was absent. His eyes flashed with anger.  
  
"Campbell." he said absentmindedly. "Campbell.where is he?!" They all turned their heads this way and that, but there was no sign of him. Dante recalled seeing him with another FACtion soldier when they had stopped in the alley, but his memory was hazed and unclear. The images of the past minutes were blurred in with those of the past hours and no one moment stood out.  
  
"Don't move," a delicate voice ordered from beside the jeep. Dante stopped, his anger mixing with frustration. Turning around slowly, he saw an M9 pointed at his forehead, and the other FACtion officials, soldiers, and drivers made no moves. "The Colonel is being relocated," the voice called from beneath a black cloth that covered the character's nose, mouth, and forehead, exposing only her eyes. And, covering the rest of her body was a heavy black trench coat, its collars standing straight in the air.  
  
"Who -?" Dante tried, but the woman quickly pinned the M9 to his forehead, putting him to silence. He blinked and swallowed heavily, looking deeply into the character's eyes. They were a magnificent green.  
  
"You don't need to know," the voice assured him. "Do you wish to die?" Dante hesitated, though knowing his answer from the second the veiled character had finished asking.  
  
"Not unless you wish to die with me," he jerked a thumb toward his company. The woman chuckled and cocked her head.  
  
"Life is highly overrated," the woman admitted. "Its only benefit is to be witness to the greatest of our kind. Those who conquer the arts give the only reason to our spiteful existence. Those who do not make the spotlight serve as the audience. It is an inevitable thing.but I, unfortunately, embrace the entertainment. And thus, I cannot let myself die here." That was relief to Dante. "But who's to say that your end means mine?"  
  
Dante went deathly pale. The woman's eyes glinted with victory and then.'Click!'  
  
"Stop right there!" a man cried from behind the woman. She could sense a gun behind her, and with a cruel grin she aimed just left of Dante's head and fired twice before the man behind her pulled the trigger. In a second, she had fired off two bullets and miraculously had dodged to the right when the man behind her fired his 8mm into Dante's chest - breaking through his ribs and busting out of his back.  
  
As Dante grabbed the wound - almost three inches below his heart - the man holding Mei Ling and Naomi began to fall - two holes in his head from the woman's M9 - and the woman gained her balance and darted forward, snatching Mei Ling as another trench coat-clad figure got a hold of Naomi and began firing off his shotgun and a spare sidearm, and the third emerged from the beginnings of a shadow with his blade in clear sight.  
  
Bullets dashing in every direction - some being deflected by Fox's blade, some shattering the dingy brick walls, and others making their marks in FACtion flesh - the three trench coat-clad figures disappeared into adjacent alleyways with three others under their cover: Mei Ling, Naomi, and Colonel Campbell.  
  
  
  
Dante watched the ceiling of the armored vehicle as he was moved into the back seat on a spare piece of wood. He looked down at his chest, which still stung, and saw a mess of tangled dressings wrapped about his body - a red stain forming a circle where the pain was most evident.  
  
A man moved over him, his eyes filled with pain of seeing his leader in such a condition. "We're taking you to a hospital," the man said. "They were left open to help treat victims from the bombing.we'll make sure you are served right away."  
  
Dante reached up and lightly touched the man's face, bringing him close. "No," he said plainly.  
  
"Sir?" the man asked, not quite sure of what Dante had meant.  
  
"I'm not going to the hospital," Dante rephrased himself, and watching the man sigh with sadness he went on. "We belong at the Tower.take me to Tower One."  
  
The man looked back with compassion, but also with pity. It made Dante feel uncomfortable. "Sir, you need to see a doctor, and -"  
  
"It will be pitch soon," Dante interjected, inhaling deeply, though not enough to retain his normal tone - instead forcing a cracked and vicious voice from the depths, "and when day has gone.and come again.the Patriot shall be dead!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE  
  
I'm going to tell you all now, that I most likely will not write anymore Author's Notes, because I tend to think they ruin the moment the chapter ends on. But, nonetheless, I am sorry for the long wait and while this seems to be an excuse not worth excusing me for, I cannot finish this without reviews. I have a terrible problem with finishing anything as it is, but it was the constant support that I gained in 'The Compilation' that got me to its end. And I want to be able to finish this story more than you want to read it, believe me, but I cannot do that without your continuing support. So, please, everyone who reads this, make a habit of reviewing more than once a story, or else this story might not show up on the site when you're looking for a good taste of suspense and drama. Thank you for reading, and I hope that you enjoy what is to come if we make it there.  
  
~ espresso 


	29. The Door Is Opened

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Door Is Opened  
  
  
  
"You can't be here!" Snake remembered the guard yelling as the three figures came nearer, slowly breaking through the dark corridor and stepping into the light. The order had been wasted, for the shimmering brightness of a silver blade quickly flashed through the light and when the man had fallen to the ground – a gash in his stomach – the woman Snake had seen at the warehouse, also one of the Romantics, was standing before him with the cell door wide open and the keys from the guard's belt in her hands. Her eyes glimmered green – the rest of her ace hidden beneath a cloth.  
  
Snake's head turned up toward her, but he was not in awe as any other person would be. He'd seen plenty of freaks in his day, FOX-HOUND's staff along with Dead Cell's ranking high on his list with those of Philosophy close behind. Her speed, while out of the ordinary, was not impressive when matched against Psycho Mantis' psychokinetic abilities, Fortune's bullet- bending skills, and Formal's trusty silver knives.  
  
"I've seen better," Snake replied, seeing her self-righteous smile, determined to demote her self-indulgence. She set the comment aside, knowing it was not one to ponder on, and held out her hand as if to grab hold of his. He shook his head and pushed off of the metal-frame bed that hung from the wall by two chains. "I'm not on the field because I need a woman's assistance. I can stand on my own, thank you."  
  
"Snake," Fox addressed him from the shadows. Taking another step forward, Snake's usual paleness broke into a grin. Standing in the shower of yellow light was Fox – wearing his trench coat as before, but beneath it were not his shirt and pants. "Hmph…like the outfit?"  
  
He wore a biomechanical suit, covering all but his face – its armor turning to mere spandex around his neck and cutting just above his Adam's Apple. His hair was disheveled and loose and his eyes stung with fearlessness. Snake looked back with a noticeable smile.  
  
"Where'd you pick this one up?" Snake joked. It was different from which he had worn at Hell's Outpost, but only slightly. It returned to the traditional blue shade, as it had been on Shadow Moses, and was a bit less bulky than at Hell's Outpost – a result of the absent Cell Drive used to harness the Perfect Cell's energy. But on its shoulder were two letters: PF.  
  
"It's not new," Fox admitted. "Just a customization of the Shadow Moses model. Anonymous bidder took on the job." Snake noted the 'PF' and nodded, accepting Fox's answer. The woman to their left cleared her throat rather loudly and they both turned.  
  
"We can't stay here," she explained. Fox nodded in agreement, and then turned to Snake.  
  
"Otacon and Jack are being held somewhere on this floor," Snake said. Fox looked to the woman who sighed: a sign that he had won.  
  
"We saw three doors coming this way," she stated. Snake looked at her, amused.  
  
"If I'm going to be an annoyance, we might as well know each others' names," he said, but the woman didn't look amused.  
  
"I know your name," she declared rather matter-of-factly before turning on her heel and pointing down the hall. Three doors – two on the right and one on the left – were just a number of paces down the hall. Jerking her head forward, she began to walk toward them, Snake and Fox following her.  
  
They stopped at the first door on the right. Trying several keys in just over a second, she came to the winner on number six. Pushing the key into the gap and turning roughly to the right, the door edged open with the very weight of the keys in the knob, exposing a small broom closet – its back wall no more than three feet deep.  
  
The woman looked to the others, removed the keys, closed the door until the lock clicked back again, and turned to the two remaining doors. Just before the door on her left was another hallway, and up the path there was a fork: they'd come from the right, but there was certainly more to the floor than three doors.  
  
Putting further thought aside, she moved to the left door. It was a thick, steel slab, and when she placed her ear against the cool surface she could hear something tapping through it. She backed up, counted through the keys, and inserted the winner. Twisting to the right, the door was released and with a slight tug it was wide open, a figure falling into the hall from behind it.  
  
He was weak, feeble, and sported a large bruise on his chin along with a long tear in his white lab coat. Looking up, he fixed his glasses on his face and quickly found his footing. Looking at the three characters, a tear began to bead in the corner of his eye and he jolted forward, taking Snake in his arms and burying his head in his shoulder.  
  
Snake patted him lightly on the back, looking at Fox as if embarrassed, and then the two stepped back. Snake smiled and winced when his eyes discovered the large bruise. "You don't look to pretty, Otacon," he admitted, and Otacon cocked his head, a look of humor on his face.  
  
"You've got quite a bump there, too, Snake," Otacon commented, finally bringing a stinging pain in Snake's forehead. He put his hand to it, but only lightly as to not make it hurt any more. All the time he had been awake in his cell his thoughts had been elsewhere, completely shielding him from the pain. Snake shook his head and looked back at Otacon whose gaze had shifted from Snake to the woman that was all ready standing at the door on the opposite side of the hall. He turned back to Snake and without speaking asked him who the girl was. Snake shrugged and went to her side as the lock was released, sending a vibration through the steel and a click into the air.  
  
The door drifted open, revealing Jack who was sitting on the cold floor at the back of the cell, his elbows on his knees and his hands entangled in his hair. When he heard the door sway open, its hinges squeaking, he jumped onto his feet and raced over to Snake and the others with relief. He was not…happy to see them, but relieved nonetheless. The situation was far too depressing and complex for him to even entertain the thought.  
  
"Hi," he said tiredly. Snake found his state somewhat amusing and grinned as Jack walked past, confronting the woman. "I remember you," he said, his face only inches from hers. "What're you doing here?" The woman looked at him without taking offense and simply turned on her heel and started down the hall. She made it only a couple of feet before a loud wave of static erupted from behind. Looking over her shoulder she realized, as did the others, that it was coming from the deceased guard's radio. Otacon's heart froze, but beads of warm sweat began to fall over his eyes.  
  
"Taylor!" a voice cried from the other end. "I'm with the American. He's not stopping," he paused. There were two sets of footsteps echoing in the background – the caller's and the American's no doubt, and one seemed relatively more hurried than the other – probably the caller's, as the American seemed to be coming without fear. "We'll be there soon." There was an abrupt silence before the woman turned briskly toward the others. The American was coming, there was a dead guard on the floor, the cell was unlocked, Snake was not inside…things wouldn't look good.  
  
Without speaking, the woman hurried back toward Snake's cell, and the others looked at her, confused. "We'll only dig ourselves a bigger hole," Jack commented, but he saw that she had stopped before another door. Bearing the keys again, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. The broom closet.  
  
Snake tugged on Otacon's lab coat and hurried down the hall, led by Fox and trailed by Jack. They could hear the faintest footsteps echoing from the stairwell that, through a small number of branching halls, led to their very position.  
  
Fox moved in after the woman, followed by Otacon who found himself between the two, then Jack who was wedged against the hinges of the door and Fox's front, and finally Snake who, when the door closed behind them – keys safely returned to the woman – was forced up against the woman, face to face. He smiled, and even with the absence of light the woman could tell.  
  
"I don't find this the slightest bit funny," she proclaimed, and Snake chuckled lightly.  
  
"Heh…well, if we're going to be this close, we might as well know each other's names," he suggested. There was a wide smile pulled across his face, and the woman hesitated.  
  
"Wordsworth," she said briefly, and when Snake went to comment she put her index finger to his lips. He froze in place, silence washing over them, but as he shifted his feet to find a more comfortable stance he felt something against his ankle and he could feel its weight shift as well.  
  
There was a muffled clatter and a small bucket of soapy water tipped on its side, spilling the water on the floor as the footsteps moved into their hall. Snake cringed, realizing his mistake, and thought it best to remain quiet. The silence was, from then on, undisturbed.  
  
  
  
"Taylor!" the guard cried, moving to the dead man's side. He knelt down beside him and touched his wound, picking up a smear of crimson blood. His head drooped low as the other figure stepped over him – the American – examining the body with his naked eye.  
  
"Slashed," he noted too quietly for the others to hear from the confinements of the broom closet. Turning away from the guard who had attended him he looked absently down the hall. "Grey Fox?" he pondered quietly, and again the others could not hear him.  
  
But then, his eyes went to the cement floor and moved to the right side of the hall, just a number of paces forward. A puddle of sudsy water had formed under the door of the broom closet and was seeping rapidly into the hall. The sight sparked a faint smile on his lips and he began to walk slowly toward the door. As he did, the guard who'd accompanied him began to release his firearm, ready for any surprises.  
  
Jack and Otacon both sensed the tension. The unusually slow beat of the American's footsteps was peculiar enough to spark a sense of curiosity, and it felt as if the entire closet was beating in conjunction with their hearts. Clap…Clap…Clap. Otacon's eyes were shooting about the darkness, trying to find a reassuring glare, but there was none. There was only blackness.  
  
Then, a boom of static…and a voice.  
  
"Reynolds," the voice called through the accompanying guard's radio. "Reynolds, the Patriot is on his way! The American is NOT authorized on that level!" Reynolds went for his radio.  
  
"Roger that," he confirmed, and as he let off the button the American cursed to himself in anger. The clap of boots, accompanied by the shimmering rattle of spurs, had appeared at the end of the hall, and the American had quickly, but reluctantly, pulled his eyes off of the puddle and stepped into the middle of the hall, a smile on his face.  
  
Ocelot, whose face was lit by the overhead lights, came down the hall with a forced look of enthusiasm, and as his eyes saw the blood that had formed around Taylor his lips fell into a disgusted grimace. "What is this?" he asked, stopping before the two men – another guard at his side.  
  
The American turned to the corpse, looking almost surprised to see it there, and then looked back at Ocelot. "Murdered," the American replied, his voice muffled through the broom closet door.  
  
Ocelot's eyes quickly jumped to the open cell door, and then turned to the two others, which were held open behind him. Facing the American again he watched with expectation, waiting for explanation.  
  
"I came down here to assess the situation," the American claimed. "When I returned from the docks, I had asked to speak with the Snake. The guards first denied my authorization, but when they came themselves they saw that the Snake and his friends had made it out of their cells. Still, they did not allow me on this level, but I saw it fit to investigate…I hoped they would not manage an escape." His eyes drifted over the puddle of soapy water and then jumped back to Ocelot who, while knowing the story was false, had forced a solemn expression.  
  
Pulling a radio from his beltline, Ocelot lifted it to his mouth and pressed down on the side button. "All units – there are radicals abound. Keep your eyes open." He lowered the radio, slipped it back onto its mount at his belt and looked at the American without any expression whatsoever. "You two," he began, referring to the two guards, "search the floor." They nodded. "And you," he paused, looking directly into the American's eyes, "come with me." The American nodded compliantly and walked to Ocelot's side, his eyes still watching the water spill into the hallway ever so slightly.  
  
Then, pivoting on his heel, Ocelot started back down the hallway, the American at his side. Reynolds and the other guard looked at each other and sighed before starting up the hall as well, to check the two cells ahead before moving throughout the rest of the floor. They walked right through the puddle, but never even realized.  
  
  
  
And, after Ocelot's and the American's footsteps die away, and the two guards have moved into far-off hallways…the door to the broom closet is opened. 


	30. Alpha Gear

Chapter Thirty: Alpha Gear  
  
  
  
Wordsworth crept out first, leading the team into the hall and locking the door behind them as they set off toward the stairwell that would guide them to the ground level of Tower One. The path was clear – both guards off in the maze of halls branching off to the left – and every door tightly closed. Untouched was the dead guard, Taylor, still slumped with his head bent oddly against the wall and his arms and legs sprawled outward. Wordsworth grabbed at her waist, making sure that his keys were still in her possession, and then hurried down the hall, quietly.  
  
Snake was just behind her, amazed by her agility. He'd tried to avoid showing any interest, but it was hard not to. Her legs pumped up and down, and never was there the slightest sound emitted from her steps. He grinned inward and followed as quickly as his own body would allow.  
  
Fox, who was just behind him, could sense the attraction. His trench coat was floating out behind him like a cape and his sword was rattling in its case. He was keeping to a quick walk, for he was fearful of making too much noise were he to run. His suit was beeping wildly within, its sounds only evident to its wearer, but his mind was at peace. That was something he had never felt before…when he crawled away from Hell's Outpost, everything was seen under a new light. He'd begun to patch the eternally growing wounds that had eaten away at him ever since he saw the end at Zanzibar.  
  
Jack was behind him. He was not worried, nor was he excited or happy. The time he had spent in the cell was a time he had avoided ever since the Arsenal Incident. Time alone was never time spent on self-acclamation, but instead self-demotion. On the job he always managed to stay composed and enthusiastic, but something was biting at him from deep within and he couldn't put it away while in that cell. He was beginning to see…his problems were unavoidable…  
  
And, holding up the back end, was Otacon. His lab coat, its pockets filled with insane amounts of pens and pencils, barely made it off the ground and hardly became like a cape as Fox's trench coat had done. His glasses were constantly slipping down his face, the sweat on his nose flowing like a river beneath them, and his hair was rustled about as he went. From the back, he saw everyone and everything, but holding up the caboose was never a popular role. "Always left behind," he muttered, and the line continued.  
  
They snaked through the halls, stopping at every corner and turning their heads around the bend to make sure there were no sentries posted in their immediate path. There were times when they'd halt and Wordsworth would push them into the last hall where they would wait after a sound no louder than a pin drop was heard. She sensed everything. There were no visions of the future or remembrances of times before she was born…nothing paranormal or super-natural, but she had magnificent senses.  
  
Snake had read a few Wordsworth poems in his day…things like 'I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud' and a few others he couldn't remember, but he could see why she'd picked the title to be her own. Wordsworth, a poet later placed into the category of the "Romantics" – a group of revolutionary poets – had graced the dawn of the 19th century with rich, detailed poems portraying nature and life. His venture into the forbidden topic of nature set flame to the veteran poets, but the beautiful pictures he painted with nothing more than ink must have lured Wordsworth – the woman before him – in. She never let a color, a sound, or a scent pass her without notice, and that became clear to Snake before they'd even made it to the ground floor.  
  
He could hear noises coming from the hallways ahead and there were muffled crashes above. Something…something was happening.  
  
And then, without experiencing any awkward confrontations, the team came to the stairwell: no more than a cramped passage, leading upward where it was shut off with a door. Wordsworth went ahead and tried the doorknob, gripping it tightly in her palm. She stopped, and so did the sounds above.  
  
Snake, who had gone up behind her, watched as her eyes traveled over the door, tracing an invisible line to the top of the dark corridor. There, hidden beneath two poorly painted wooden slabs, was almost a pound of C4. Snake looked back at the knob and noticed a small thumbtack sized silver disc, sitting on the greasy surface. Wordsworth looked at the disc and sighed. "Optical pull-string," she noted.  
  
"Turn the knob, and we all go up," Snake added, shaking his head grimly. He turned to the others. "Any ideas?" The company was silent, and Wordsworth's hand began to pull away. Otacon jumped forward in protest.  
  
"No!" he cried. "Wait!" Wordsworth's grip became firm again, and she shifted into a more comfortable stance.  
  
"What?" she asked.  
  
"There could be a trigger," he noted. "Touch-sensitive. It could work double. You turn it – it blows. You take your hand away – it blows." Wordsworth's head fell subtly. "Do you feel anything? Anything on the doorknob?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "But…it looks like this is new. The wood on the ceiling is sloppy, and I don't see any strong support…and the American passed through this door just a matter of minutes ago."  
  
"Klaymore?" Jack questioned aloud, but Snake shook his head.  
  
"Couldn't be," he said. "Klaymore's with FACtion. He wouldn't be allowed admittance, and the building is under heavy surveillance. We saw that before ending up here."  
  
"But, if it's the handiwork of a sentry, why wouldn't he just stand here with a gun and avoid blowing a chunk out of the tower? Doesn't seem right…" Jack commented, stepping off to the side and leaning his back against the wall. Things became very silent, but Snake could hear something and Wordsworth could to.  
  
Bleep…bleep…bleep…  
  
Snake's head quickly turned up to Wordsworth who had positioned herself to face he others – her hand still gripping the knob tight. "Timer," he muttered, and quickly he grabbed Wordsworth, leaping down the stairwell with her in his arms.  
  
The others fell onto their stomachs as a grinding howl escaped the corridor and as the spent C4 – its remains billowing up in smoke, rubble, and fire – set the corridor aflame Snake and Wordsworth both held their eyes tightly shut, letting no light break through. There was calmness. It wasn't like the momentary détente at the heart of a raging battle, or a cool attitude when facing a nearly unbeatable foe, but calmness. It was what Snake had gotten only a taste of while in retirement. He didn't worry in those short moments as he and Wordsworth fell through the air. He was being held in someone's arms…and he was holding that person back.  
  
It was a feeling he didn't want to cease…but it did. Just as they fell against the cold floor, their bodies uncoiling and falling away, the calmness ended and reality began again. The first thing they heard was a Russian voice, calling from the landing of the dismembered stairwell. It was cold and cool.  
  
"So, you know my work." Snake's eyes peeled apart wearily and he knew before the words were spoken.  
  
"Klaymore," he muttered, moving off of his stomach and onto his knee. There, looking down on them, was a stocky character, his unkempt hair rustling in the repercussions of the detonation. He wore a plaid, button- down shirt beneath a black, leather vest, and a pair of jeans hung loose around his waist. He grinned wide, waving his hand – a signal that brought nearly ten Army Rangers to his side. Snake looked upon them in confusion.  
  
"Rangers?" he questioned. Jack noticed them too, beginning to stand as Snake had done. "I thought –,"  
  
"They were under the control of the Patriot?" Klaymore finished. "Yes, they were…but that is all far too complicated for them to understand. Thankfully, the President of the United States has intervened. The Rangers are now at our disposal." The Rangers began to filter down the wreckage, retrieving the company without resistance and dragging them reluctantly to the ground level where they found a surprising number of characters.  
  
"FACtion and the United States?" Jack thought aloud. "Working together?" Klaymore nodded.  
  
"But…you took Manhattan Island hostage!" Otacon cried. "You threatened the United States…and now you're working alongside them?"  
  
"Exactly," Dante said, coming from the corner of the room and walking before the large number of Patriot Sentries – all held under Ranger weaponry. Snake and the others waited for their eyes to focus and watched intently. 'How?' they all thought.  
  
"Finally!" Dante exclaimed. "Finally, a president with courage! A president with power!" He paused, smiling at the company and shaking his fist in the air. "He is the first president in U.S. history to defy the Patriots. The first!"  
  
"Courage?" Fox muttered to himself, absently.  
  
"The Holocaust," Dante began, pausing to compose his thoughts. "The Holocaust was a tragedy. Millions…MILLIONS of Jews…all slaughtered. There was no good reason. They were killed because they were Jews." Dante raised his shoulders in question, but went on. "The United States lost thousands in single battles, and trekked through the gunfire. They fought here. They fought there. All along knowing, or at least hearing, that countless Jews were being burned…shot…tortured…torn…everything one could possibly imagine. For a number of years they fought, losing and gaining territory, and all the while not even a town of Germans would stop the Nazi genocide. They watched, they spoke of it, and they lived on. Two…three nations ignored the actions, and millions of lives were lost.  
  
"The Patriot…oh, the Patriot is worse. He and his minions…his puppets…go out across the world and kill, save, laugh, cry, talk, remain quiet, fire on, or don't fire on…all as part of a game. A cruel movie that simply will not end. Like with the Holocaust, no one acts. Hundreds upon thousands of government officials throughout the world know of the Patriot…and do nothing.  
  
"And then, someone stands up. Someone contacts his friends, finds new ones, and builds a strong alliance. Then, after going through the scenario time and time again, he realizes he simply cannot rule out the possibility of civilian casualties. But, he knows that otherwise, the killings and the worthless staging will continue. So, he thinks long and hard, and he makes a decision. He bites the bullet…and makes a decision." He paused. "That is courage."  
  
There was an awkward hush, and Dante found himself obligated to continue.  
  
"Solidus tried it, yes, but he wasn't thinking. He had grown too old. This one…this president is ripe. He possesses the perfect balance of intelligence, ruthlessness, and risk. Only one man, in the history of this world, could contend." Dante stopped speaking, and pondered for a moment before returning to his audience. "The Romantics played an integral part in the deal. You will be awarded Mei Ling and Naomi…and I am awarded the President's full support, and another prized item."  
  
From the corner Dante had appeared came a figure disguised in a trench coat, its collar standing up to hide his face. In his hand was the disc recovered from the Compilation. The disc Wordsworth had earlier possessed. Snake looked at her, and she looked back without confusion. She had willfully turned it over to her colleague…who, in turn, gave it to Dante. "You see, the Patriot's power only exists as long as his intentions are not clear. But, his intentions ARE clear."  
  
"What?!" Snake cried, seeing the Romantic and putting the puzzle together. The Romantics…the United States…and FACTion…They had all sided together to stop the Patriot. And there, standing amidst the many people, Dante lifted the disc in the air and smiled with triumph.  
  
  
  
"Alpha Gear!" 


	31. The Sacrificial Lambs

Chapter Thirty-One: The Sacrificial Lambs  
  
  
  
"Alpha Gear?!" Snake inquired with a hint of surprise hidden deep in his harsh tone. Checking the crowd nervously, he noticed a slight shift of weight when the words were spoken. He wasn't alone.  
  
"Alpha Gear," Dante repeated. "It's being held somewhere in New York City, watching after the Patriot with a heavy eye. Lucky for him, he was granted an army and a forty-foot robot. Otherwise, we would have found him a grave years past." Snake sneered, but held back the unfitting comments he was so eager to voice.  
  
"With the creation of the Wisemen's Committee, there came a heralding outcry for greater personal security. They passed a vote for a Personal Guard, the origin of the soldiers you see before you…the Patriot's own army. But, soon after the Wisemen's Committee was eliminated, the nation of America became a clouded dictatorship at its core, and with the request of the first Patriot there came demand for a new, ultimate weapon.  
  
"Alpha Gear. The details are still unclear, but there are a number of analysts at the CIA under orders from the President of the United States currently looking into it. The disc that I hold in my hand is in ten thousand computers around the world at this very moment, and will be available for download on another thousand servers in just an hour's time." He paused, beginning to pace before taking in a gulp of moist, hot air. "News sure travels fast."  
  
"Then what's Metal Gear?" Otacon interjected. "How are they different?"  
  
"Ah," Dante raised his index finger and stepped nearer. "You see, the collateral information recovered from A: Objective had sparked curiosity in the politicians of our world, and it was only a matter of time before they caught wind of 'ALPHA,' the top-secret committee in charge of researching and constructing the Alpha Gear weapon. It was with THAT information that the UFAC was formed, later leading to the discovery of the Patriot. And it was ALSO with that information that, the thing that is today called Metal Gear, was brought to life. It was only a matter of time before the information was filtered through the UFAC to spies, who then leaked it to their superiors, and who then began constructing their own weapons."  
  
"Why would the Patriot rely on an out-dated piece of weaponry to protect him?" Snake asked aloud, and Dante looked back at him – intrigued.  
  
"Snake," he began, stopping to find the suitable words. "I would very much like to sit down with you sometime over a cup of coffee. You are an interesting character, indeed. I can see why they believe you a legend." Snake was more or less angered by Dante's approach – exactly the opposite of his intentions.  
  
"I'm not here to talk, and neither are you," Snake declared, defiantly. There was a sparkle in Dante's eye.  
  
"You are so similar…you and him," Dante claimed, absently, as if he and Snake were the only two present in the room.  
  
"Hmm?" Snake grunted.  
  
"A man from the history books," Dante continued – dazed. "And a legend, himself -" Then, there was a shifting shadow across the floor as something moved on the staircase abroad.  
  
  
  
"Norman," a voice whispered in the shadows. "Keep a close ear. I want to know everything as it is said."  
  
  
  
Then, a shot.  
  
The bullet screamed through the air, breaking the wind around it and penetrating a Ranger's forehead with a force that sent him off of his feet and onto the floor. A splash of blood spurted out, staining a Patriot Sentry who he'd been guarding. Dante had started off to the right side of the room, Wordsworth was running toward him, the third Romantic raised his shotgun and a spare UMP 450, and Fox had turned to Snake and bid him farewell as Jack pulled out a Hammerli and stood in front of Otacon as a shield.  
  
"We leave here now," Fox declared. His arms went up to the right, quickly, jerking his sword forth and deflecting a round of Sentry ammunition. Snake's eyes turned to the crowd and saw the disruption. With that one shot and that one life taken, the entire room had exploded with gunfire. Snake turned back to Fox and shook his head. "From here, it only takes time. We are no longer needed."  
  
"It wont just work itself out," Snake exclaimed, throwing up his arm s a hail of gunfire was deflected again by Fox's blade. "We ARE still needed." Jack had moved beside them, Otacon tugging on his shoulders in fright. The main battle was being fought between the Rangers and Sentries, leaving the company almost unnoticed by the masses.  
  
"Look!" Jack pointed toward the stairwell that led to the second floor, and then to the third, and so on and so forth. The shadowy figure had disappeared, but Dante had directed three others to it. One of the characters was bulky, an oddly shaped knife in his hand. The other was a woman, her hair falling over her shoulders and bouncing against her back as she ran. The third was familiar, though. He was Klaymore. "The 1st Officers Unit," Jack claimed. "That's all three of them, I'll bet. Tauran, Klaymore, and Esher."  
  
"The giant is Tauran," Otacon guessed. Snake looked at him and laughed before turning his head up toward the three. His eyes searched wildly, but they were nowhere.  
  
"They're heading for the plus levels," Snake noted. "FACtion may not be your enemy," he said, directing his statement toward Fox, "but it is ours." Snake looked up at the third Romantic, his guns firing off crazily – each one hitting its mark. He was the most talented shot Snake had ever witnessed. He wasn't good with one gun, or so fast he could take seven foes in three seconds – like Revolver – but he could use any weapon handed to him like he'd trained with it for weeks.  
  
But…he still didn't know his name.  
  
"Take care of the girls," Snake requested, looking over Fox's shoulder and seeing Wordsworth grab their wrists and pull them through a back door, the Colonel following close behind. "Contact us when they're safe." Fox turned, sending a number of rounds back in the direction of the masses – two of them striking Sentries.  
  
"We'll be here," Fox declared. "We won't leave." Snake looked at him grimly.  
  
"You had better not," he replied, shaking Fox's hand hastily. "You don't want to miss your train," Snake pointed, and Wordsworth had just disappeared through the doorway.  
  
"Where's Dante?" Jack questioned. Snake's eyes scrolled over the floor, but saw nothing…except a glass entrance door sliding shut and a shadow disappearing beyond the WTC area. "Gone," Snake said, looking back to where Fox had stood and seeing no more than unsettled dust.  
  
"The Rangers are losing," Snake noted. He looked at the third Romantic again and saw him pull forth a small radio from his beltline. He spoke for a moment, still firing off his UMP 450 with his spare hand, and then tucked the radio back into his pocket before peering over his collar and catching Snake's stare in his view. He responded in no way, and turned and ran.  
  
"Gone," Snake said again, frustrated still that he hadn't seen more than the top of his eyebrows.  
  
"Come on!" Otacon yelled, nervously stepping in front of Jack. "FACtion and the Patriot are our main priorities. We don't leave until they've been stopped!" Snake looked at him. It was touching, seeing Otacon step out like that, but only the foolishness kept Snake from showing his compassion…that and the fact that bullets were passing by them in every direction, stirring the wind around them.  
  
Snake looked at Jack who nodded. Snake did the same. "Then we run," Snake said rather matter-of-factly, and without any inclination as to when, he started off. Running, straight through the center, Otacon and Jack looked for ways around the masses, but saw none as the entire floor was littered with Sentries and Rangers.  
  
Jack went first, Otacon after that. Snake, who was ahead of them both, could feel the bullets churn the air about their paths. He heard their screams and their whistles and could taste their bitterness. Screams of pain from Sentries and Rangers filled his head, as did the bullets, and their breaking bones and nervous parents who sit at home and can only wonder. Can only wonder what they go through…  
  
And then, he fell.  
  
His legs became weak, his knees soar, and his shins aching. His breathing quickened its pace, his arms lost feeling, and his lungs curled in on themselves. His heart started beating, faster than he'd ever felt it before, and the colors and sounds and sights were wrapped around him in a terrible haze, smothering him with sickness and pain.  
  
  
  
"FOX!" Liquid had cried. "Die!" Snake had exclaimed. 'Damn,' Snake thought now, his world falling apart. 'Not now!'  
  
'Your age shows,' a voice called. It was Liquid. 'FOX-DIE isn't willing to give up its grip on you, is it? Poor, poor brother. I would have gladly taken death over life, were I even given the option. You are burdened by the mercy of time. "A random card," Naomi had said. You simply never know.'  
  
'I'm dead, then?' Snake asked. Liquid's image appeared in the black void that was his mind. He lifted his index finger and shook it wildly.  
  
'Of course not, Snake! This is a simple tremor…the lightning before the thunder. I am surprised you managed to suppress it this long, but now it is clear. You are human, Snake. You can be killed. Everyone loses sometime.' Snake couldn't speak.  
  
'When does it end? When will I come out?'  
  
'You're awake,' Liquid answered. 'Its like your eyes have turned into the back of your head, Snake. You're simply looking at it differently. You are watching your death, as your friends hold onto your life.' He paused. 'You expected it too, didn't you? You didn't think you would last this long, did you?'  
  
Snake began to lose touch with Liquid, and the black void began to fill with light.  
  
'You're coming soon! I can feel it! We will meet again, soon, Snake! I will be waiting for you!' And the darkness was filled with light…  
  
  
  
…Just as the elevator beeped and the doors to the first floor slid shut. Snake set his hand on his heart, but no longer felt any pain. Otacon moved over him as Jack stood by the doors.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon cried. "Snake, are you all right?" There was urgency in his voice, but that didn't change even when Snake's eyes had opened. The world was still something of a blur, but he was relieved to feel the pain and the pressure in his chest and his legs had subsided. He nodded at Otacon and sat up.  
  
"Snake! What was that?" Otacon asked, Jack still standing alert at the doors as the floors beeped by. Snake looked at the elevator control panel and saw the light for the third floor alive with an orange glow.  
  
"The third floor?" Snake asked. Jack looked at him and lifted his shoulders as the elevator fell a few inches, stopping at the respective level. Snake began to stand as the doors slid apart, a 'ding' sound signaling their arrival.  
  
Otacon threw his hand over his mouth and Jack turned away, facing the back of the elevator. Snake stood for a moment, finding his balance and setting the world back on its feet, and then stepped out of the elevator. "Snake!" Otacon protested, but Snake lifted his hand.  
  
"Go ahead," Snake said. "Jack, keep him safe." Jack nodded, on his way out of the elevator, and then stepped back in pushing another button on the elevator controls. Then, the doors slid shut, and only a feeble "Good luck" could be heard from Otacon before the elevator ascended again. That left Snake alone…surrounded by innumerable corpses.  
  
"All Sentries," Snake noted. 'FACtion,' he thought to himself, stepping over one of the forms. They were in terrible shape. They hadn't been shot or beaten…they'd been torn. Their limbs remained in tact, but there were unbelievable gouges ripping through their stomachs, into their chests, and down their backs. They'd been slaughtered like a herd of confused lambs, and their blood soaked into the carpet – still leaving some, for the carpet was even too saturated.  
  
One man was slumped against a cubicle wall, his neck partly severed and his chest gauged out, leaving no trace of his heart or any other organs. Snake couldn't stand it. It was too sick, too unimaginably horrific. But, he could hear sounds coming from a room adjacent the nearest hallway that broke away from the present workspace. Pulling his SOCOM out of its holster, he held it down by his thigh, his arms extended to their max. His heart was beating quickly. Very quickly.  
  
'Is it your time now, brother?' he could hear Liquid asking him. 'I do hope so.' Snake shook his head, stood where he was, and closed his eyes. Then, when they opened, Liquid was gone. "I got Mantis out of here," he declared, tapping his temple. "You're no different." He was whispering as he stepped into the hall, listening intently still to the sounds that came from ahead.  
  
They were wet…sick noises. There was tearing flesh and dripping blood and anything one could imagine…and still far worse. Snake had never heard a more frightening sound, but he was not fearful. His heart was beating slightly faster than usual, yes, but he was calm. He had fought the worst of the world…what remained could only turn out weaker.  
  
But then, he was there. He was standing just outside the door, listening to the sounds within. His eyes narrowed, his grip tightened, and his legs stood solid like the stone legs of a statue. Then, he twisted around the corner, pushing the door wide open, and stopping in the doorway with his SOCOM raised level with his own eyes.  
  
But what he saw…it was like something out of a Stephen King novel, or an even more terrible rendition of the Red Dragon or Hannibal. Stretched along the ceiling and the walls of another office room, filled with cubicle after cubicle, was a colossal spider's web, stretching over the cubicles and the lights and the fans. A number of spiders rested on the silky tresses, but they were not made of silk at all. They were red…red like blood. Sitting on the floor, there was a large, built man…his hands working their way inside a Sentry's chest, and a silver, twisted knife in the Sentry's forehead. He looked up, his pupils a dark crimson, and grinned.  
  
"Solid Snake," he growled. "What a pleasant surprise." Snake was tempted to shoot, seeing the terrible atrocities the man had all ready committed, but he did not. He was…curious…intrigued.  
  
"Tauran?" Snake guessed, and the man's eyes widened, the pupils growing larger and more frightening.  
  
"By some," the man groaned before pulling a line of veins from the victim's body. Snake cringed, only on the inside to hide his disgust.  
  
"And by others?" he asked. Tauran raised his shoulders, a smile on his face. "How'd you get the name Tauran?"  
  
"It is the name of my Queen," he said, lifting his hand into the air and the vein with it. A single spider, one that appeared larger than even Tauran's hand, descended on a line of sticky blood. Engulfed the vein, sucking it into its body like a cord of lickerish, Tauran smiled and brought it in his hand to the corpse before him.  
  
It turned in his palm and looked at him, almost as if seeking his approval. With a nod from Tauran, the spider leapt out of his hand and buried itself in the victim's chest, pushing up the corpse's skin as it walked inside it. Tauran watched Snake closely. He blinked with every one of Snake's blinks, and cringed with every one of Snake's cringes. And then, the spider broke violently through the man's stomach and scurried up Tauran's arm, grabbing hold of a strand of blood, and climbing quickly up it.  
  
"That is she," Tauran explained in a low tone again. His skin was lightly tanned, suggesting that he came from South American soil.  
  
"So you gut 'em, and they eat 'em?" Snake suggested. Tauran was taken aback, shifting in his seated position and taking the knife that remained firmly lodged in the victim's forehead and dislodging it, pulling a chunk of bone and flesh with it and showering the floor with a torrent of sticky blood. Tauran's eyes went hungrily to Snake and he bit his teeth together as if to scare. Then, with his free hand, he reached into the man's head and pulled forth a messy clot of sludge and mass.  
  
"Sometimes I eat too," he said, sinking his teeth into the mess of wrinkles and taking a lump of it into his mouth. He ground it several times with his teeth – its sound suggesting it was rather tough – and then swallowed, exhaling and sending a wretched smell across the room. Snake faltered back a ways, disgust being the only emotion he could express any longer. "The human brain…chewy."  
  
Snake wasted no more time, pushing his finger down on the trigger of his SOCOM and sending a well-placed bullet into Tauran's left arm. He ground his teeth together, showing his pain, but then began to laugh as a horde of spiders descended strands of blood and crawled down the walls then up his legs to reach the wound.  
  
Quickly, they broke their way into his body, squeezing into the hole formed by the bullet, and began to feast on his muscle and on his blood. "A cycle," Tauran proclaimed as he stressed his muscle and as ten crunches were heard. "I feed them…and they feed me." Snake looked at him, appalled. "They are no more than a pool of blood, wrapped in a weak membrane of silk and fur. And these," Tauran said, referring to the Sentries that littered the floors, "are there's as well."  
  
The spiders had covered nearly every inch of Tauran who took his hand holding the brain and smacked it on the victim's uniform. Grabbing the man's collarbone and lifting him into the air, the lights – tainted red by the webs that were built over them – glistened on the handprint and the spiders crawled up Tauran's arm and quickly covered the victim, eating him as they scurried over him.  
  
"These…are the sacrificial lambs!" 


	32. I am the Lamb

Chapter Thirty-Two: "I am the Lamb"  
  
  
  
The button was highlighted as the elevator settled on the third floor. The heavy doors slid apart, and Jack stepped cautiously into the lobby area of the floor, Otacon slowly making his way out of the elevator and following close.  
  
"A computer lab," Jack noted, as his eyes scanned the area. Past the small lobby, through a short corridor, they found a giant room littered with desks, assembled and unassembled computers, and tall black boxes that spoke very loudly, humming a tune and beeping. Otacon's eyes flashed and he hurried over to one of the tall black boxes, sliding his hand down its surface. Jack ran over to him and grabbed his arm.  
  
"Calm down," Jack said, but Otacon wasn't listening.  
  
"A Delta," he said, noting the triangle symbol on the box's body. "Most expensive supercomputer hardware available. Why would they need something like this in a building to be used solely for the Patriot?"  
  
"Shh!" Jack put his finger over his lips and let go of Otacon, stepping toward the back of the room where another hall branched off. He had heard something. What it was, he wasn't sure, but he had heard something. He knew that much.  
  
"Do you hear that?" he asked, stopping. Otacon walked over to him and stood patiently, searching for a sound. Something out of the ordinary, but all he could hear was the hum of the computers.  
  
"Nothing," he said, and then hurried over to one of the desks where a computer was assembled. He took a seat in a swivel chair and Jack moved behind him. "Maybe we can get an idea of what this is all for if I can pull up a software check," Otacon indicated, moving the mouse at his side and watching the black monitor blink back on. "Sleep Mode," he said, waiting for the desktop to focus.  
  
Once it had, he began moving through the windows and lists as there came a ringing in his ear. He put his hand to his ear and waited for a click to indicate his connection.  
  
"Otacon?" Mei Ling.  
  
"Mei Ling! Are you all right?" Otacon replied.  
  
"I'm fine. So is Naomi and the Colonel."  
  
"Good. What's the news? Any word on Dante's whereabouts?"  
  
"None," she answered. "We're moving to Tower Two to find cover, but Fox and the woman went back to Tower One. They're looking for you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"They're not letting you do this on your own." There was a pause. "The other man is with us. Protecting us."  
  
"Who is he?" Otacon asked, baffled. Everyone wanted to know.  
  
"We're not sure," Mei Ling answered, and then Naomi and the Colonel moved onto the line.  
  
"Otacon?" the Colonel asked.  
  
"Colonel Campbell," Otacon said briefly.  
  
"I'm sorry…I couldn't keep from talking," the Colonel apologized.  
  
"Its all right, Colonel. You're safe, and so are we."  
  
"There is something else I want to tell you. It's not much, but it's all that I know." The Colonel paused. "Your operation to retrieve files from the Compilation wasn't decided upon by Dante or I. We had been working together for some time, and he always thought it too dangerous to think of confronting the Patriot ourselves…but someone else changed his mind."  
  
"Who, Colonel?" Jack asked, moving onto the line.  
  
"The agent called Esher," he answered. "She…or he…suggested it, and it was Formal who backed the idea. I don't know what it means, but I don't think that FACtion is the only group that wants the disc."  
  
"Then who?" Jack inquired.  
  
"We're not sure," Naomi answered.  
  
"Naomi!" Otacon seemed surprised to hear her voice.  
  
"Otacon," the Colonel began again, "don't worry about this information yet. We'll figure out what we can. Where's Snake?"  
  
"He's on the second floor…investigating," Otacon answered.  
  
"All right," the Colonel said. "We'll be in touch."  
  
"Right," Otacon replied. "Don't be a stranger." Then, the transmission ended and Otacon cocked his head, watching as a list of installed software appeared on the computer screen. One seemed particularly interesting, and seemed…familiar. "IDT?"  
  
  
  
"What is it Mr. Snake?" Tauran asked, his voice low and harsh. The victim who was clenched tightly in his hand had become no more than a pile of torn muscles and bone sitting before him, and the spiders had returned to their webs in anticipation of another great feast. "You eat meat, do you not?"  
  
Snake thought he might answer, but thought not to. Instead, Tauran continued without him. "Of course you do. Think of the cattle…their bodies ripped and slashed, only leaving bone and various organs to litter the cold cement floor of the common slaughterhouse. Humans kill each other, their bodies being left in morgues and deep pits for years and years. Why can my spiders not make something of their kills. They do not kill and walk, but eat. Every last bit." Snake cringed, his eyes wandering the room. "And what they miss…I am sure to finish for them." Tauran took a long vein wrapped around one of the bones and bit it near its end, sending a surge of blood down his throat. He smiled.  
  
"Sometimes there's blood left over. Like a surprise cake…or a cream-filled donut." He paused, his eyes set on Snake, and then took the vein into his mouth and sipped it up like a strand of sticky spaghetti. With that, Snake fired again – this time sending the bullet through a large spider dangling eerily near him. There was a terrible scream as it splashed open, showering Snake with a wave of warm blood. He looked at his shoulder and noticed the spatter of crimson staining his sneaking suit. Then he looked up again to see Tauran's angry eyes opened as wide as able.  
  
"My spider," he breathed unusually. There was a horror in his eyes, like he had just seen a terrible atrocity committed, one that had taken the lives of a thousand innocent people. But what he had seen was the murder of ten thousand innocent people to him – the murder of one of his several spiders. "You are a murderer!"  
  
"And what are you?" Snake asked as Tauran stepped forward, stopping him in his place. Tauran's eyes began to look around, a sign of deep thought. Then, they were level with Snake. They grew wide and he cried: "A servant!"  
  
He leapt forward and Snake fired off his SOCOM once more, putting a bloody mark in Tauran's right shoulder. The immediate sight of blood had sparked excitement in the spiders and they began to shift, slowly stepping down their webs.  
  
Tauran turned behind a cubicle wall and sat for a moment, silence filling the room. Snake was still by the door, his gun raised high, but the blade that had once been at his feet was gone. Tauran began to laugh.  
  
"It is called a Reaper," he said. Snake listened closely. "You see the twisted blade…make a single hole in one's body, then move the blade as you sink it into the flesh until you have the entire silver soaked in blood. Then…pull straight out, and the kinks do their job, tearing flesh, bone, and muscle from the victim." Tauran held the Reaper out of the cubicle, giving Snake another look. "It really is a magnificent piece of art."  
  
Snake waited no longer and fired twice more, two bullets penetrating the flimsy cubicle wall and plowing into Tauran's right shoulder blade. "Aghhh!" he cried, dropping the Reaper at his side and laying on his left, tucking his legs into the cubicle and gritting his teeth in pain.  
  
Snake took note to the spiders. Their eyes were gleaming with delight as they began to crawl down their long strands of blood, their legs working slowly and their mouths flexing and readying for the feast. The blood that stained Tauran was all that they saw, all that they wanted or desired. The red splotches overshadowed Snake's act of violence. They were scavengers, not loyal to Tauran, but to blood.  
  
"They're still hungry," Snake said aloud, sending Tauran's eyes into the air where they found a mass of spiders all moving down toward him. He was shaking his head, slowly at first but then in wild denial.  
  
"Snake!" Tauran cried, pulling himself along the floor and out of the cubicle. "Snake!" he cried again, reaching his arm out to him as the spiders came just a foot from the ground, and half a foot from his back. "You are to be the next sacrifice!"  
  
Quickly, he took up the Reaper and turned onto his back slashing several spiders into fragments of blood-sopping skin. As Snake watched, not seeing Tauran as a threat any longer, the brute man moved onto his feet and once realizing his predicament, let the spiders come down on him. Tauran, the spider, was the first to land. She stepped down his face, his neck, and then sat on his shoulder licking at the wound. The brute smiled.  
  
"They aren't going to feast me," he said in surprise and joy. "They are kind," he continued, but then Tauran looked into his eyes and sank her teeth deep into his wound, sending a strain of venom and poison through his body, coupled with a terrible pain that set his blood on fire. "TAURAN?! AGHH!" he yelled, dropping his Reaper to the floor as the spider worked its arms into his wound and bore its path, paving the way for the rest of the spiders that quickly followed, sinking into Tauran's shoulder and eating paths through his body.  
  
He was panting…sweat was dripping down his face…his blood red eyes were turning a pale white as the silhouette of a spider moved through his pupils and then into his throat, stepping out on his tongue. His arms were shaking uncontrollably and his muscles were flexing and relaxing as the spiders tore them apart. Snake turned away, but Tauran's arm went up, his fingers stretched out.  
  
"Sn…Snake," he breathed, taking several troublesome gulps of air. "I…will be-become stronger…coursing th-through them." He paused as the spiders busted through his chest and his back, looking for a new entry. "I…am the lamb."  
  
Snake blinked and then started out of the room as the spiders devoured the last of what was keeping Tauran alive. "I… am the lamb!" he cried, laughing absurdly as Snake traveled down the halls. "I AM THE LAMB! THE LAMB! I AM…THE LAMB!" 


	33. The Target Was Set

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Target Was Set  
  
  
  
Snake had left the floor without another spoken word; without another look back. With the haunting words "I am the lamb" and the tearing of flesh and mangling of bone he had wished never to see a sight or hear a sound so bitter and brutal again. He walked on, though, and did not stop until he was within the elevator cart and had pushed the button to move to the third floor.  
  
'Snake,' Liquid's voice emerged as the elevator doors slid shut. 'I'm still here, Snake. I'm not leaving. We have a lot of catching up to do!'  
  
Snake did nothing, but hold his SOCOM tight and look directly at the silver doors as the elevator began to lift smoothly upward. 'Cold shoulder.Snake, whatever you do, I'll be right here beside you. You simply cannot be rid of me.' Snake didn't respond.not physically at least.  
  
But, he was fighting it. His mind was pushing.pushing Liquid - or the mere memory of him - from his consciousness. Snake knew that he couldn't engage in a firefight with Liquid chanting in his mind. He knew that he would die.and maybe that was exactly what he was trying to do.  
  
'You think I want you dead?' Liquid asked. 'Ha! Why would I want that? I'm still alive, Snake. In Ocelot's arm, yes, but this isn't me talking to you. You know just as well as I that you are speaking to yourself.just like you said it - your mere memory of me.'  
  
"How do I know that?" The elevator stopped, but as Snake took a step forward the doors did not open. Something was obstructing them.keeping them tightly shut.  
  
'Snake!' Liquid called again. 'I'm not letting you go. Not yet!' Snake turned his head, and began to search along the walls. His eyes were darting this way and that. He had to find an exit.  
  
"You're a memory!" Snake exclaimed. "How can you be holding me in here?"  
  
'Think of how we are alike, brother!' Snake's mind froze. That last statement had melted eerily into something he had long forgotten.a mesh between Liquid's and another's. He stood, slowly, his eyes beginning to scan the elevator cart as he felt - or thought he felt - something brush up against him. Something invisible.  
  
His arms were strong, but in that moment they shook. "He's.alive?" he asked Liquid.and himself, but there was no reply. "Is he alive?!" Snake's voice had escalated in both intensity and anger. He was not frightened.but angry and confused. But then, the doors peeled open, and there was a slight scream as they retracted.  
  
Snake jumped around, facing the lobby area, and stepped into the open. He stood, unable to comprehend what had been said in the elevator. His arms had fallen and his head had too as the doors closed behind him. Turning around, he watched the light highlight numbers as the elevator ascended: 4.6.7.8.10.12.and finally 13. 'There was someone in there with me,' Snake thought and then turned away again. 'But who?'  
  
There were questions.so many questions to be answered, but none of them could be. He was positioned in the center of the world and was the only one who could put an end to everything that was happening behind the veil.but he would never be known. His wounds would never be seen, his story never told in truth. He would endure the pain of the world and would be the very one to carry that terrible weight without recognition.without reward but that of his own pride - pride which was shattered every time he took a life.  
  
He had known it, though. He knew it when he took the job. But, there were things he valued that had come only with his job: Fox.a loyal partner. Otacon.a caring friend. Raiden.a dedicated apprentice. Desperado.an honorable and fair adversary and image. And truth.something he would have lived his life without had he not signed up with FOX-HOUND or the military.  
  
He let out a heavy sigh, one that he dismissed even before he'd done it. Then, gripping his SOCOM just a bit more aggressively, he went down a narrow hallway and saw at its mouth a large computer lab littered with desktops, laptops, and other computer terminals. Snake took note to the tall black boxes and then saw Otacon and Jack both huddled around a desktop. He saw several green lights glinting from behind crates and table legs, but only as his foot nearly touched the floor of the computer room did he see the whole picture.  
  
"No, Snake!" Otacon grumbled, and Snake stopped, his foot hovering just inches above the carpet and then pulling quickly away as he regained his stability a few feet from the mouth of the lab. His eyes went back to the little green lights and his SOCOM went up as well. "SEMTEX," Otacon mumbled just loud enough for Snake to hear.  
  
Snake backed away just as there was a beep in his ear. Surprised and finding it terrible timing Snake kneeled, his SOCOM still high, and touched his ear with a discerning grimness on his face. "Who is it?" he questioned on instinct and on anger.  
  
"Snake," Otacon's voice returned. "Snake, it's Klaymore. The room is set to blow, and one touch to the floor will light this tower on fire." Snake sighed more heavily than before and closed his eyes tight. 'Too much,' he though. 'Too much is happening too fast.'  
  
"How is the floor set to blow?" Snake asked, his eyes opening quickly. "Sensitive to the touch?"  
  
"No," Otacon answered. "It's setup like a grid, the lasers running just over the carpet. I can't quite tell, but I think there are a few sensors running vertically throughout the room, but I have a good view of the conductor panels on either side of the room."  
  
"Otacon, is Klaymore nearby?" Snake asked.  
  
"No idea," Otacon replied, and Snake seemed somewhat estranged by the situation.  
  
"How the hell did you get to that desk without setting it off?" Snake questioned. It did seem odd that they were, out of luck, able to move to the terminal and avoid each and every sensor in their path.  
  
"They weren't on when we came into the room," Otacon said. "It happened when I activated a file on the computer." Snake shook his head slowly.  
  
"What file?"  
  
"It's titled 'IDT.'" Snake thought. "It sounded familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Whatever it is, it's what triggered the SEMTEX."  
  
"Can you.deactivate it?" Otacon shook his head and Snake saw him do it. He looked down at the floor and thought.pondered. Then, his head came up and he cocked it to the right, just slightly. "Otacon, you said you had a good view of the conductor panels?" Otacon nodded. "Do you have a good enough view to walk me through the room?"  
  
Otacon shifted in the chair, a sign that he was somewhat uncomfortable with Snake's suggestion. "Snake, I don't know. There could be more than what I see." He paused.  
  
"Can you or can't you?" There was a daunting silence, occupied only by their heartbeats and slow breath.  
  
"Yes," Otacon answered confidently, and Snake stood tall.  
  
  
  
"He's trying to navigate the SEMTEX sensors?" A voice came from a dark nook. It was on a Codec, and Snake's and Otacon's voices could be heard on the transmission, but his voice was not heard on theirs. "Norman, run a scan on the third floor. I don't want to be blown apart." There was a pause. "In fact, the Snake might need some direction.Norman, give me Solid Snake's transmission, and cloak my voice. He is not to know who I am. Not yet."  
  
  
  
"It looks like you have just about a foot and a half gap between the gridlines.in most cases. That's worth a sigh of relief, but not a cheer. At least we know it's possible," Otacon paused, and Snake sighed on queue. "I don't want to move around, because I don't know what other sensors might be around Jack and me, but what I can't see he probably can."  
  
"What about those vertical sensors?" Snake questioned apprehensively. Otacon's eyes went steadily to the intentionally jagged ceiling, circular designs engraved in its surface. He watched for a moment, scanning it closely, and then his eyes fell shut.  
  
"I don't see any conductors, but I can't be sure," Otacon replied.  
  
"That's comforting," Snake said sarcastically as he moved back to the mouth of the narrow hall and looked over the carpet with a cool calmness. Otacon was happy to see his game face again. Snake pulled out a cigarette from its case and bit it between his lips, letting it tip slightly toward that floor. Pulling out a lighter, he singed its end and puffed a bit of smoke into the air before returning both the case and lighter to concealment.  
  
"Smokes again, Snake?" Otacon shook his head with a slight smile. "Well, they aren't going to work for this. The sensors are too close to the floor. Why don't you work on saving another ten years of your life and slip them back into your pocket."  
  
"Stress relievers, Otacon," Snake answered with a grin and he could see Otacon blink and hold his eyes shut for some time before looking back up at him and then surveying the conductor panels on either sides of the wall.  
  
"All right," Otacon began, "pick your right foot up and place it back down just over the break in the carpet," Otacon explained. Snake examined the carpet and saw its fairly obvious transition from a blue-green to a patterned shade of blue-violet. Taking a peek into the lab room, he looked heavily on the two conductor panels and then took a step, setting his foot down with a firm stance and making sure not to tilt his ankle as to trip the sensors.  
  
Otacon let out a deep sigh and wiped his forehead, moistening the back of his hand and smearing the salty sweat through his eyebrows. "Good, now turn 90 degrees to your left and set down your left foot perpendicular to your right." Snake did as he was told and Otacon sighed again. "In the next row of gaps we don't have much hope. They're no wider than the length of your foot, and no longer than the width of your foot, which means you simply cannot fit in them.so jump on that table just to your left, and wait there for a moment."  
  
Snake looked up to his left and saw a four-legged desk, its top made somewhat of glass and a computer placed under it, tilted upward to face through the glass window. Snake had no sooner stepped onto the desk than he had stepped back off, his heart racing. He peered into the glass window and saw a blinking green light, along with a small conductor panel, and when he looked up to the ceiling he saw another. "Damn," he said aloud.  
  
"What is it, Snake?" Otacon asked.  
  
"A vertical sensor is running right through this desk," Snake explained. "Klaymore is no idiot.and it shows." There was an eerie silence from where Otacon sat, and he took a deep breath before looking up into Snake's face.  
  
"Snake," he said slowly, "he's shut off every possible path. There's no way you can get through this without striking a sensor."  
  
"Not true," a voice came, suddenly, making Snake jump. It was on the Codec, and it was digitally cloaked.  
  
"Who's this?!" Snake erupted, but there was no direct answer.  
  
"That Klaymore.his genius never surprises me." There was a pause. "The naked eye will not get you through his maze.only a map. And.wait, I happen to have one right here." Snake was suspicious.  
  
"How can we trust you won't send us into the sensors?" Otacon asked, and there was a hasty reply.  
  
"I am in this tower as well," the voice claimed. "Your success is my success, as your failure is my failure. You see, Solid, both our lives are on the line."  
  
"Who are you?" Snake asked.  
  
"What do you suppose this cloaking is for?" the voice returned.  
  
"I don't care, I want to know who you are." Snake was persistent.  
  
"I am the American," the voice came again. "You will know me by my real name soon.but first you must survive this.we both must." Snake's mind returned to something Otacon had told him in the helicopter as they were on their way to Embassy Square. 'The Discovery,' he told himself.  
  
"What's the Discovery doing here?" Snake asked, and Otacon swallowed hard. There was an apprehensive hesitation from the other end of the line.  
  
"How much do you want from me?" the voice asked, surprised and yet.accepting of the request. Snake didn't answer. He just waited for an answer. "The Discovery is here with Metal Gear."  
  
"Metal Gear?!" Snake exclaimed. "Two Gears in the same city?"  
  
"This Metal Gear has been in production for quite some time.and the Patriot has sought its abilities since the conclusion of the Cold War. But, he still doesn't know the half of it. He doesn't deserve my Metal Gear."  
  
"Your Metal Gear?" Snake questioned.  
  
"I had it constructed using variables from studies in the Cold War Project, a project initiated by Soviet contractors and other outside investors. The Patriot has tried for so long to possess it, but he knows that its power is confined to my knowledge. Only with me can he operate it.but he is all ready finding ways around that." The voice paused absently. "He doesn't trust me, but he has failed to see the trick I have in store for him, still." The voice paused again, waiting for some reply, but there was none. "I presume that is enough to gain your trust for the time being? I am who I say I am."  
  
Snake swallowed hard. "Where do I go from here?" There was a grim satisfaction, one that Snake could sense but not see. He knew the American was being truthful to them, but he could feel another weight upon him.  
  
The time was slow moving, but every step Snake took was without flaw. He had reached Otacon and Jack without coming near another sensor. Despite the restrictions, Otacon and Snake hugged and Snake shook Jack's hand heartily. "Take a look at this, Snake," Otacon said, pointing at the monitor of the computer they all three were huddled around.  
  
There was an onslaught of files being transferred from 'Zero' to the large black supercomputers, and the monitor was giving the three a window to it all. But still, it eluded them - its purpose. "I don't know, Otacon," Snake said, and they both watched the screen absently, until Otacon suddenly remembered.  
  
"The Colonel," he said aloud. "He told me about something called 'IDT.' I don't remember what the acronym stood for, but.here, I'll contact him."  
  
There was a moment of silence as the two connected, and then a scruffy voice came over the line - its origin unknown. "Yes?" It was the Colonel.  
  
"Colonel? It's Otacon," Otacon said hastily. "Do you remember something called 'IDT'?" The Colonel though for a moment, but it was a short moment.  
  
"It's Dante's program," the Colonel replied. "IDT - Internal Data Transfer. It was installed on the disc I gave you back at the headquarters outside of Manhattan. Why?" Otacon seemed very confused.  
  
"It's installed on a Patriot database," he proclaimed. "We activated it, just to see what it was, and a whole floor of SEMTEX was automatically armed. We're stuck in front of a computer, and the program is doing something. It's retrieving files from a database titled 'Zero.'"  
  
"I'm sorry, Otacon," the Colonel answered. "I don't know, but.why would it be on a Patriot device? Dante directly opposes the Patriots. I wonder how they got a hold of it."  
  
"Do the three of you want out of this maze?" the American's voice returned, and they sighed.  
  
"Who's that?" the Colonel asked.  
  
"Don't worry," Otacon eluded his question. "Thanks, Colonel." Then, their transmission was cut and the three of them looked back at the computer. "Why WOULD Dante's program be on a Patriot device?"  
  
"I'd like to know that myself," the American intruded, "but first you must get to a more secure location, and that means you need to get off of this floor. Now, shall we continue?"  
  
That was when they turned, their eyes fixed on the elevator doors as they slid menacingly aside. And there, standing in the nearly empty cart, was a man. In his left hand was the intersection of a seared crucifix, its body black and gray, and in his right was a trigger.  
  
"Welcome to my labyrinth," he said. "So sorry I kept you waiting."  
  
  
  
"Sir! Right this way, sir!" a man yelled, gesturing Dante toward a helicopter - rotors all ready spinning. Dante, who was still walking but at a quick pace, moved over to the man and another man suited him with a tan trench coat before the window of the second cockpit of a Tiger helicopter lifted and slid open.  
  
"Thank you," Dante said and then climbed a ladder to the second cockpit. Flipping over the edge of the wall and dropping into his leather seat, he fitted himself with a pair of sleek black gloves and took the maneuvering stick in his hand as he fiddled with a number of other buttons and switches.  
  
Then, upon pressing another, the cockpit window moved back over him and fell into place, securing itself with a number of electromagnetic locks. A flight crew, all dressed in jumpsuits and fitted with headphones and goggles, backed away as the rotors continued to churn the air, whipping through it faster and faster, and sending a squall of dust and mulch away from it.  
  
Slowly, the helicopter moved into the air, and began to pull up and away. Dante looked over his shoulder and could see a number of lights glinting from Battery Park at the helicopter's left. Then, watching the sky and touching a button on his control panel, a green glow set the vista aflame with night vision.  
  
"Sir," the other pilot began, "we are airborne." Dante smiled as the entire city of Manhattan spoke in the night with a sparkling shade of green. And in the distance he saw Tower One, its lights being the only ones in the city still glimmering, and atop it was a spire of red and white lights and a number of unassembled tresses.  
  
"Playing both sides gives you quite an advantage," Dante said to himself.  
  
"What was that, sir?" the other pilot asked.  
  
"Nothing," Dante finished. He looked at the towers again and grinned wide, then muttered quietly and secretively to himself. "The night holds many secrets." And then, with the spinning rotors and the quiet, dead air, the helicopter came nearer and the towers grew larger.  
  
The target was set. 


	34. He Would Know Their Names

Chapter Thirty-Four: He Would Know Their Names  
  
  
  
"Klaymore!" Snake yelled, raising his SOCOM and aiming for the Russian's forehead. Quickly, Klaymore had lifted the trigger in his right hand and was shaking it playfully.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," he said, and began to step through the narrow hall as the elevator doors closed behind him. He walked, his feet always stepping directly in front of each other, as if he was walking a balance beam, and his eyes struck the air like sharp knives, his pupils small and defined. "You don't want to end up like Peg-Leg Peter."  
  
Snake stopped. "Stillman," he said quietly, and the day returned in a terrible vividness. The cool, brisk air breaking around the struts and twisting trough the structure of the Big Shell like a torrent of raging water just let loose from the shattered remnants of a dam. Everything returned to him.and to Jack.  
  
'I knew he had the real thing up his sleeve,' Snake remembered him saying. And he knew it was his fault.not Stillman's or Fatman's or Jack's, but his. He had sprayed the last charge of C4 and the 'real thing' had been armed. He'd been hiding there, next to that charge, as Shell 2 felt the repercussions of his mistake. 'Damn,' he thought to himself.  
  
He'd looked the man in the eyes and then he'd let him die. 'Damn!' he'd yelled aloud. To Jack he seemed unaffected, but that was never true. Snake was human; everything affected him.just like it affected others. But, he didn't keep his feelings inside either.even before he committed his actions he dismissed them. It was a method he used.one to keep all of his feelings away from him, as well as from others. And even though Stillman was far from the most emotional trauma he'd endured, it was the last he could handle. On that day, when that happened, he sat against a wall and for the first time in a long time he cried.  
  
His elbows rested uneasily on his knees and his arms crossed making a table on which he laid his forehead. There was no more tolerance left in him.the pain had built so great, and he'd forgotten it so long that when Peter died it all came rushing back; every past experience. And with it came the tears, each one reminding him.and for that he cried a long time.  
  
"Poor fool," Klaymore interjected, "faking injury to protect himself from the 'public outcry.' What rubbish!" Klaymore paused and stepped calmly into the computer room, his foot missing the sensors entirely. "They.never did find the man responsible.did they?" Snake looked at Klaymore in horror.  
  
"You," Snake muttered, only loud enough for Jack and Otacon to hear. Klaymore, in the meantime, was stepping skillfully through the maze of sensors, his eyes shooting from conductor panel to conductor panel. His strides were perfect and never jerky. Even when he was required to step a great distance he did it elegantly.it was like hopscotch without the jumping. An art.  
  
Then he stopped, his left leg bent up at his side, and his right straight and firmly placed in a gap. "Poor old Peg-Leg."  
  
"It was you!" Snake exclaimed, forcing his SOCOM on him from meters away. "You blew the church!" Klaymore looked back, his eyes the only things moving, and then a smile broke across his face and he took another step with the trigger held up by his head. His eyes squeezed into a thin crease of white and black, the pupils elongating with the pressure from above and below, and Snake was waiting reluctantly to pull the trigger of his SOCOM.  
  
"No matter your anger, Solid Snake, you must bare in mind the fact that you and a thousand tons of metal and concrete lay on this trigger, and in my hand," Klaymore said. "And don't forget that the rest of Manhattan also has a consideration toward future renovation. Charges of C4 have been inserted throughout Manhattan, marking the key spots of demolition. With the touch of another trigger this island could be swept into the tide and lost at the foot of the ocean. No lives would be lost.other than ours, of course." There was a sick grin on Klaymore's face, one that inspired a sense of anger and hate in Snake that was on the brink of boiling over. His finger was settled uneasily on the shiny trigger of his SOCOM, and the thought of pulling it was not far out of mind.  
  
"Why?" Jack asked, cutting through the silence and adding an unwelcome sense of tension to the situation. "Why would you attack a church?" Jack's face had changed over his time in the military and Philanthropy. It had hardened, and he was no longer the well-kempt model that he once posed a position as. Now, there was a roughness to him, one that reminded Snake of himself.  
  
"Russia has been in line for peace for far too long," Klaymore stated. "With my birth came my mother's death, and then I came into this place.this world.and I was left to fend for myself. My father had died sometime after the Cold War, an agent assigned to countering the American operation titled A: Objective, and my much older brother disappeared when I was not even four."  
  
"I was adopted into a military family, my father being a prominent officer in the Russian army. When I was only 15 I was sent to an academy for training to become a Spetsnaz. I was taught many things - Intel analysis, hand-to-hand combat, firearm tactics, and bomb identification and removal. That was what I was later interested in. In a rather unfortunate incident, I found myself surrounded by sensors and wires, all designed to rip apart three blocks of my hometown. In a failed attempt at defusing the explosives, I found myself in flames.burning."  
  
Snake looked at Jack for a moment and then returned to Klaymore who seemed dazed and without recollection of his audience.  
  
"I got away with fewer injuries than expected.death being the expected outcome." Klaymore's legs began to move again, stepping casually through the maze of sensors his face slightly pale and his eyes not moving from a spot on the far wall where they lay fixed. "Two years in a hospital, hooked up to cords and tubes.but I came out of everything with just a few bruises and burns.  
  
"After I was released I left the Spetsnaz along with Russia and met up with an American man in Italy. He had told me he was a reporter, but that wasn't true. He spoke with something of a Russian accent.hardly, but it was there. I suspect he was a citizen there for some time and grew a custom to the tongue." Klaymore stopped again and pointed to the ceiling of the room where a projector sat on a lowered platform. Snake's eyes followed the Russian's gesture and saw a faint, green glow. Another charge of SEMTEX.and when he looked at the floor below it he saw a bump in the carpet and a change in the design throughout the fabric: another sensor. Klaymore grinned and stepped to the right before walking straight again and continuing.  
  
"This American man," he started up again, "I.don't remember his name. He carried two pistols, an obvious sign that he was no reporter, but I don't think he expected me to believe his lie anyway. When our meeting had ended, he gave me a gift: a thick.blue.pen." Klaymore had snuck his hand into the pocket of his jacket and had pulled the pen from its depths, brandishing it before Snake. "I thought it was worthless, but when I inspected it closer I could see small pin-holes where the tiniest screws had been screwed." Snake was rummaging through his sneaking suit pockets as Klaymore spoke. "It took me weeks to pick every last one of them out, and inside I found the usual innards of a pen: an ink tube, a spring, but then I also saw another thing.a small, gray piece of an electrical-something-or-other. It was smaller than my thumbnail, but when I looked at it closer I could tell exactly what it was," Klaymore paused as Snake pulled three shiny blue pens from a pocket in his suit and held them up in bewilderment, "a bug."  
  
Klaymore stopped walking again, having passed Snake now, and turned to face the three characters at the computer desk. "I see you have eliminated three of FACtion all ready," he said, and Snake thought back. He remembered Formal handing two of them over - belonging to him and Frost - on the rooftop of the coffee house, and then he remembered Tauran throwing the third at his feet. Snake's eyes slowly abandoned the pens and began focusing again on Klaymore, whose frightful grin remained broad and thin.  
  
"Each and ever man in FACtion owns a pen just like it.and I wonder now, who that man really is. You see, I saw the American man here today. He was in the lobby no more than an hour ago.firing off his shotgun and his cheap UMP. He has been watching me for more than four years.watching all of FACtion.and now he's watching you." Klaymore flipped his pen into Snake's arms and he quickly put the pens away. "There, go start a collection."  
  
Klaymore's eyes flashed just as there was another ring from the elevator, the doors peeling open, revealing another character whose back was turned to them. Fro the angle, Snake could see only his shoulder and his left arm, and when the figure turned he could see Klaymore raise the trigger and grin. "You," he muttered, and then Snake saw the figure's right arm go up, and he saw a familiar gun gripping tightly in his hand, magazines taped to its sides.  
  
There was an explosion from the end of the gun, and a scream of pain as Klaymore's hand burst apart, the trigger toppling onto a desk and blood spilling over the floor. Klaymore keeled over, the crucifix in his hand also tipping out of his grasp and dropping to the floor, falling luckily between the sensors. Snake's eyes shot back and forth as Otacon shifted to stand, but at the same time that the figure's arm went to it's side and Klaymore put a firm grip on his ravaged arm, there was the faint whirling of rotors in the distance and the Tiger came quickly into view.  
  
They all turned - all but the figure in the elevator who stayed hidden - and waited to get a better glimpse of the pilot. But, before anything in that moment became clear, the American yelled desperately over the Codec: "Get off that floor!" Then, a blazing light was dispersed from a 30-mm in the nose turret, and Snake, Jack, and Otacon tipped to the left, the American yelling wildly in their ears.  
  
"One foot left! Two forward! Three left!" The commands went on as the windows were blasted apart and as Klaymore was catapulted into a pile of computer hardware, his right hip taking the form of a hill of crimson slop and torn flesh and broken bone on the carpet floor. The cannon moved to the right and fired off again, and again, breaking through the windows that made of the left wall of the room, each shot aimed at the three, but each one missing by no more than a foot.  
  
And then, when they had finally stumbled across the room, out of the line of sensors and SEMTEX charges, Snake looked up and saw the trench coat- fitted figure step back into the elevator, his back facing the room and his arms at his sides. Raising his right arm, he saluted the wall of the elevator - meaning to salute Snake - and the doors closed, the number "13" above the elevator highlighted.  
  
Snake looked back at Klaymore who was still struggling to move, his arms pushing around in the pile of equipment, and then back at the elevator, his heart pumping and the Tiger still rattling off rounds from the cannon. "Take the stairs!" Jack yelled through the chaos, and Snake looked to his left seeing the stairwell and quickly darted up them, his legs pumping and his feet landing on every other step.  
  
'It's him,' Snake thought, his SOCOM gripped as tightly as ever. 'Fourth floor,' he told himself as he stepped onto the fourth floor landing and then swiveled around to continue up the stairwell again. Otacon and Jack were not far behind, but as time passed, they went slower. Each floor they passed, they heard the shattering glass walls as the Tiger continued to plow through the building with shot after shot. 'Fifth floor.come on.come on, come on! Sixth floor.Seventh.he's on the thirteenth, Snake! Hurry up! He's on the thirteenth!' He was not slowing, that he realized. Actually, he was running faster as he got higher, his heart only beating with greater intensity as he did.  
  
'Eighth.Ninth.Tenth.Eleventh.Twelfth! One more, Snake! Just one more! He's there.and so is Ocelot.' He didn't realize he had thought it, but he had. He didn't really know where Ocelot was, or at least he didn't think he knew, but then he realized something else. 'Thirteen!'  
  
Then, just as he stopped on the landing, he saw the trail of the third Romantic's trench coat whip through the hall and disappear into a room on the left. Snake's mind still racing, and the truth sitting on his fingertips; he knew that he was almost there. The truth of the man's identity was essential to the web strung out in front of him.and the realization that he almost knew the answer was clue enough that he was reaching the truth in all of the lies. He was reaching the end.  
  
And then, he came to the door the man had disappeared through, and he turned into swiftly into the room. Just then, his SOCOM in the air, the door shut behind him and a magnetic lock set in place. Snake stopped, his heart still racing, but sound ceasing in the dark room. Everything was black, but it was the twirling of a revolver, the click of two Desert Eagles, and the invisible weight on his shoulder that alerted him to the presence of those in the room.  
  
There were three there with him.and soon he would know their names.  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE Only two chapters left! I have had a lot of trouble finishing this story. First, much of the MGS enthusiasm has been depleted over time, fans instead paying respects to star wars and several other new phenomenons. Second, because this is no doubt far more confusing than the Compilation. It's hard to portray the depth of the Patriot network without boring the reader or telling too much, but I've done my best to avoid both. The final chapter is still in progress, and I've been working on it for nearly a month. No, that doesn't mean it's REALLY long, just that I'm really working to make the dialogue explain what needs to be explained without overdoing it, and to enhance the excitement and give you a fabulous ending scene. Thank you so much for supporting me, everyone, and I will do my best to give you the best finale I can.  
  
- espresso 


	35. 36 Seconds

Chapter Thirty-Five: 36 Seconds  
  
  
  
The lights blinked on, spraying a blue shade over the room, and illuminating three faces - only two of them visible to Snake, as the third had a gun in his back and a hand on his shoulder. In the center of the small room was a complicated mess of wires and machinery - it's walls nearly five feet wide - putting the far end of the room nearly out of sight, and forming a fairly narrow walkway around it. He could see two faces: one on the right side of the pillar, holding a revolver, and one on the left side of the pillar holding two Desert Eagles, one in either hand. Snake hadn't seen him since Hell's Outpost.and he had been waiting to hear from him ever since then.  
  
"You are without a weapon. Take these. You told me he was out for himself. You were right. I have Kevlar incase he acts," the man left of the pillar recited, holding a creased slip of paper in front of his face. "Signed, me."  
  
"Desperado," Snake said in awe, and there he was. The third Romantic.the reporter.the American man with a Russian accent.the lost survivor of Hell's Outpost. His long blonde hair had been cut shorter, but his shot was as sharp as ever and his array of weaponry was the same. Snake remembered the note too.it had been pinned to a pair of Desert Eagles Snake had come across before facing off with Ocelot and Desperado. He had known he survived, but he had not known when he would ever see him again, and he had never thought when he did they would be on the same side.  
  
"I knew you would make it," the man right of the pillar sneered. Snake's eyes moved over him, recognizing him to be Ocelot. His back was to the pillar, and he was working to shield himself from Desperado, not worried by the man who held a gun to Snake's back. And strangely, neither was Desperado. Then Snake noticed Ocelot holding his arm, and saw some sort of device pinned to his belt.  
  
"Stealth camouflage," Snake said aloud, noting the device, and Ocelot's eyes scanned him, a corrupt grin on his face. There was pain and anguish in his face too, but he tried to hide it. "That wasn't FOX-DIE. That was you." The pain remained, but the slightest bit of joy that was there before, was washed away.  
  
"Damn you, Liquid," Ocelot cursed. "Even with Keplar's serum I cannot suppress you." 'Keplar's serum?' Snake thought. Ocelot looked back up at Snake, no longer addressing his arm. "He's been trying to alert you," Ocelot explained. "He wanted you to know."  
  
"Know what?!" Snake exclaimed angrily. He felt the muzzle of the gun grinding uncomfortably in his back, forcing him to push his chest forward.  
  
"He wanted you to know everything.so that you could stop me," Ocelot claimed. "He wanted you to know his name." 'His name?' Snake thought, and then his mind went to the man at his back, and to the gun in his spine. 'Who are you?'  
  
"My name," the man behind him said, and he knew that Snake didn't even need him to say the name.just hear the voice. And he did. Snake's eyes grew intensely as the voice became clearer. "The name of the American," the voice said again. His heart began to pump more rapidly again, and he twisted around, jumping back into the pillar and raising his SOCOM level with the man's forehead. Ocelot and Desperado were motionless, both waiting to see what would happen.  
  
"The name of your father," the man said again, and Snake's heart almost skipped a beat. There, standing with an M9 in hand and two more guns holstered, was his father.or the closest thing to it. There, standing with an expressionless gaze and a slightly obscured face - burns on his shin and right cheek - was Big Boss.  
  
"What the hell?!" Snake exclaimed, and Big Boss' face lit up in amusement. "The American?" Snake's face became distorted and full of rage, his index finger held firmly on the trigger of his SOCOM. Then, he turned around the side of the pillar, his finger compressing the trigger and sending a single bullet at Big Boss' head. Big Boss had all ready jumped to the right, firing one bullet from his M9 at Snake's head, and before both of them put their backs to opposite sides of the pillar, the bullets shattered the walls and pipes, sending a light mist of gas through the room.  
  
And there they were, all with backs to the pillar. Big Boss was facing the door, Desperado was facing the left wall, Ocelot was facing the right, and Snake was facing the rear. In the five or six months that followed Hell's Outpost, Desperado had decided on siding with Snake, and Big Boss had decided on siding with Ocelot.  
  
Now, there was the heavy breathing and the hiss of gas that was sneaking from the pipes in the pillar. No other sounds could be heard. Ocelot inhaled, and with a calming exhale he grinned. "How quaint."  
  
"What do you have to do with this?" Snake asked Desperado, loud enough for everyone to hear. Desperado was flat against the pillar, his Desert Eagles still in his hands and at his sides. He shook his head, a gesture only he was witness to, and swallowed subtly.  
  
"I was the agent who went missing after Hell's Outpost," Desperado answered. "I was a part of the UFAC. I was undercover, not after Shalashaska, but Formal." Snake's mind began to retrace history, searching for the answer before it was presented. "Formal was working with FACtion when he became employed by Shalashaska, and when the name came up at headquarters I remembered it."  
  
"From what?" Snake asked.  
  
"His interview," Desperado explained. "I play an important role in the network of the Patriot as well, though I was awarded it without my knowledge. It was not until just before Shadow Moses that I became aware of this role. It was to select the members of the network.that meant the Six Points, and even the Patriot himself." Snake was confused.  
  
"Before my father passed, he told me of my duty and of the Patriot. Around 100 years ago, the Wisemen's Committee was destroyed, and a man - Charles Harpin - was later named the Patriot. There was a total renovation in the structure of the network, and it was reconstructed as a dictatorship, leaving a close friend of the Committee - my father - to select the future members.  
  
"My job was passed on, not through family, but to whomever he saw fit for the job. In this case, he thought I could handle it. After he died, I learned more about the existing Patriot, and as members of the Six Points died, being past their prime, I interviewed the people who would take their places. But, they would never know that they were a part of the Patriot's congregation.that way they would be fair judges of the Patriot's actions." Then, Snake remembered the pens.  
  
"What about the pens?" Snake asked. "Everyone in FACtion owns one." Desperado hesitated for a moment, but the continued his explanation.  
  
"With them, I managed to keep tabs on the people I interviewed. You see.FACtion is the Six Points. Tauran.The South American. Frost.The African. Formal.The European. Klaymore.The Russian or Asian. Dante.The Australian. And Big Boss.The American. I selected all of them.your father, on terms regarding other factors."  
  
"Don't call him that!" Snake growled. "He's no father of mine."  
  
"It was all part of a plan," Big Boss began. "Our paths crossed in the past. After he hired me to the Six Points, and Shalashaska as the Patriot, I met up with Shalashaska and learned of my importance to the network. We kept tabs on Desperado, and after he learned of the previous Patriot's more.devastating atrocities.he contacted the Six Points and conditioned their minds to oppose the Patriot, hoping that then he could stop the Patriot. But, the Six Points had no real power, and by playing along I was able to build a strong bond with the Russian."  
  
"Dante," Snake said.  
  
"Precisely," Big Boss continued. "It was easy, guiding him away from FACtion and implanting in him sympathy for the Patriot. Our connection gave me access to The Discovery." Snake was not going to wait any longer for another answer, and so he interjected hastily.  
  
"What does The Discovery have to do with it?" Snake asked.  
  
"Ha," Ocelot chuckled. "Even the story of the Alpha Gear has not passed by you? It was the elite piece of machinery designed to protect Charles Harpin during his time in office as the Patriot. It is the ultimate compilation of nuclear technology, forging the enhancements and skills of every new Metal Gear.well, all but one."  
  
"Mine," Big Boss entered the conversation again. "It is the method of Conglomeration. The Discovery has chartered Metal Gears from positions all across the globe to the home of Alpha Gear for many years. Metal Gear Ray was sent to an underground facility in Manhattan, where Alpha Gear was being held at the time. Its strengths were altered and entered into Alpha Gear, and with the new enhancements Alpha Gear became stronger. This is how it has been since the first Metal Gear was produced.the single method used to assure the Patriot nuclear supremacy."  
  
The four men were growing increasingly wary of conversation, beginning to peer around the corners of the pillar at each other as Big Boss continued. "Ocelot has been after my Metal Gear for quite sometime, but it's arrival isn't the true reason for this whole fiasco."  
  
"The Six Points," Desperado said, before his thoughts were fully developed. His eyes scanned his mind, and he worked feverishly to formulate the answer.  
  
"We killed the Six Points," Snake said, then. "We killed them, so that you could carry out a plan without their interference. They were obstacles.and you needed them gone before your power was recognized. But," Snake recalled a segment of their conversation, "I thought that the Six Points were just decoration. They have no real power to begin with."  
  
"Only on a certain level," Ocelot started again. "You see, they've wanted me out of control since they knew I was the one. I've done far too many things to counter their resistance, and they've held even more grudges. With Desperado's assistance, they've been turned against any act by me, the Patriot, but they are the only ones who can give the green light on an event so important as this."  
  
Then, the tension shattered, and each man in the room spun around the corners of the pillar, aiming their guns high. Desperado and Big Boss faced each other, and Ocelot and Snake did the same. But, Ocelot's eyes were narrow and sharp, and with the switch of a hidden lever in the mass of pipes and tresses that made up the pillar the room began to move.it began to ascend.  
  
Snake's head went in every direction, searching for an answer, as Ocelot watched him in amusement and the ceiling opened, letting the faint glow of the moon shine in, highlighting some of Ocelot's more distinctive features. Then, the walls having disappeared beneath them, the floor quivered and then halted, becoming a part of the roof. Snake looked at Ocelot and felt the moonlight pour over him, streaming over his bulking muscles and through his hair.  
  
The roof was littered with heavy machinery and unfinished, unassembled tresses - some jutting up from the roof and waiting for the proceeding ceiling to be positioned over them. It was an eerie sight for them all, from their spot over the quiet Manhattan. They saw nothing but black beyond the nearby peak of Tower Two - also having been halted at the thirteenth floor.  
  
The wind was brushing by them, and the heat had completely gone from the day before. Ocelot held only one Revolver, and put his hand in his pant pocket retrieving his pocket watch. Glancing at it for just a moment and angling it for the moon's reflective light to illuminate the working hands, he grinned. Then, he dropped it back into his pocket and patted his pants lightly. "Just past twelve.it seems Dante has gone back on his word."  
  
Just then, the Tiger helicopter shot up from the blind spot of the building's side, and elevated above the four. Dante wiped the window of his cockpit and gave them a casual salute before switching something on his control panel. The four looked up, their clothes rustling in the heavy wind, and both Big Boss and Ocelot pulled their second guns, aiming them at each others' targets. Ocelot held two revolvers on Snake and Desperado, and Big Boss held a Beretta and a Marker on the two as well.  
  
"Welcome to the game!" Dante cried, his voice amplified over the sound of the quick-turning rotors. "It is time for the secrets to be told!" Ocelot and Big Boss both sported lively grins, but Desperado and Snake both watched.their eyes scanning the vista hungrily. Then, Snake heard a sound explode in his ear and he subtly tapped it, his action going unnoticed by the congregation before him.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon's voice erupted. "Snake! Are you all right?!" Snake knew he couldn't answer, but he let the noises around him be transmitted through his Codec to Otacon. "We got a shot of the pilot! It's Dante, Snake! I got in touch with Mei Ling and Naomi.Snake, they found something big in Tower Two!"  
  
Then, without another moment's hesitation, Big Boss fired his Marker. As soon as he had shot, they all jumped away.all but Snake, who had dropped onto his chest, a terrible pain surging through his thigh, and blood dribbling onto the roof to form a small puddle beneath him. "Snake!" Otacon yelled, hearing Snake's subtle moans. "Snake, are you all right?!"  
  
"He.can hear us," Snake managed to say, his eyes narrowing on Big Boss who had ducked behind a large crane-like machine. Their eyes were level with each other, and Snake could feel the hatred boiling inside him.  
  
"Shooting?" Dante's voice boomed. "All ready? Before another shot is fired, we will all know the truth. Big Boss, let's begin with you. You seem eager to finish this." Big Boss' eyes were fixed on Snake, and he held no acknowledgement to Dante's incessant bickering. "No? Why not tell Ocelot the truth? He deserves it, doesn't he?" Ocelot was hidden behind a mass of machinery; it's build resembling a wall.  
  
"What truth?" Ocelot roared. Dante smiled, the helicopter making circles over the four, and continued as Big Boss had yet to answer. "It seems his 'Trinket' failed ocean travel regulations, and didn't make it on the Discovery."  
  
Ocelot's eyes stung with rage as Big Boss let out a howl of laughter: "You couldn't have seriously expected me to hand over my life's work? Even if you did have it, you know you would never be able to duplicate its abilities. You know of it's Chemical Locks.what it has harnessed is a power that only I can access."  
  
"'Trinket' was your ticket to life, boy!" Ocelot cried. "It's the very reason you are still alive today, and you know that as well as any!" But, as much as Ocelot yearned to go on, Dante was not willing to stop the confrontation with that.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah!" Dante yelled, his hand going up in the cockpit of the Tiger. "Ocelot, don't you have something to tell Big Boss as well?" Ocelot looked up at Dante with a rage only he knew, and raised his revolver toward the helicopter.  
  
"I have a shot, boy, and my will to take it is strong!" Ocelot's revolver was firm in his hand, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that if he did pull the trigger he would hit his mark. Dante knew this and stopped. "But, I don't mind sharing the trick I played on you." Ocelot remained hidden and his revolver remained pointed upward as he spoke, an apprehensive glare on Dante's face.  
  
"You've wanted power from the start," Ocelot began. "If you had been granted my role, you would have taken it in a heartbeat, and I know that not a single part of you opposes the idea of the Patriot network, yet you still hold a certain hatred against me. Now, what I know, that the others in our midst do not, is that you are anything but a strong follower of the FACtion belief. You are out only to help yourself, and so you have used many to achieve greatness, but you have overlooked the flaws.  
  
"Esher.she is my agent. Not of the Six Points, just a loyal devotee of the Patriot. She has never acted to counter your succession, but she has done well as to keeping herself a secret. As soon as I contacted you regarding the mission, you were hooked. I made plans with you, allowing Big Boss to hitch 'Trinket' along for the ride, and you knew the intentions of this mission all along. I told you what I had to about Alpha Gear, and then your men passed a disc onto Solid Snake. Now, when you sent the disc through the officers, Esher switched it with one loaded with your 'IDT' program. Then, it was installed on the Compilation. From there, it was passed between the Romantics and Solid Snake, but the move that no one saw was the swap." Snake was trying to listen through the pain, but he could hardly make sense of it all.  
  
"Snake, do you remember? Wordsworth took the disc from you and handed it back to you before you noticed a thing. You didn't see her switch the 'IDT' disc with one installed only with a short list of parameters regarding Alpha Gear.just enough to excite those who read it, but just few enough to let them pass it off as an unidentified theory." Dante, Snake, and Desperado were all stunned.their minds and mouths frozen, but Snake had room to ponder, and with the mention of IDT his mind began to churn like mad.  
  
"Wordsworth?" Desperado muttered.  
  
"She had me call her 'Tintern' after one of the late poet's greater pieces," Ocelot said. "Having told Dante of Alpha Gear, he never bothered to look at the disc before speaking with you in the lobby.simply rattling off what I had told him at the start of the mission."  
  
"Wordsworth?!" Desperado cried aloud. There was an undeniable anger in his tone. Snake could easily identify with him, but it was Ocelot who continued.  
  
"She was like Esher.a loyal devotee to the Patriot - to me. She never did anything to break your confidence, but she succeeded in everything else we planned." Dante, who remained seated in his aerial throne, set his finger on the controls before him and gripped the stick lightly, tugging it to the left as his thumb contracted on the red button on its top. And then, a terrible hiss escaped the Tiger's hull and three Trigat missiles exploded from its 'wing.'  
  
Snake, who was lying in the open, rolled over his leg and behind a mass of shattered metal. Ocelot ducked away, too, losing his aim at the Tiger and taking cover as the three missiles impacted various spots on the rooftop and sending shrapnel through the air. "Damn!" Snake roared.  
  
"Otacon! Get out of the building! NOW!" Snake cried. There was a sudden echo of footsteps in Snake's ear as Otacon and Jack trampled down the stairwell.  
  
"Snake," Otacon panted. "I'd told you.Mei Ling.she found something big.in Tower Two." Snake was grasping at the wound in his thigh as Big Boss fired his Marker in the air - its sound reverberating through the air and coming in a weird wave of loud and quiet tones through the rippling wind of the rotors. Snake's head went up, realizing completely that Big Boss didn't want him to hear about the discovery in Tower Two.  
  
When the Marker's shot had been silenced, the Tiger pulled away from the rooftop and ascended to the clouds for a moment - Dante was checking the status of the helicopter before returning to battle.  
  
"Snake! It's the -" and then the transmission was lost, another call taking control of the Codec. Snake looked into the air with an obscure expression as another voice filled his mind.  
  
"You have two minutes." The voice was raspy and cracking, and the Tiger could be heard only in the distance. 'Two minutes,' Snake thought. 'Who.?'  
  
"Klaymore!" Snake cried aloud, and the transmission was lost. He knew what it meant. Klaymore survived the attack, and his thumb was still on the trigger. In two minutes Tower One would be no more than a heap of glass and steel. Then, his mind returned to the bomb activation in the computer room, and the IDT program. "What's the IDT?!"  
  
There was a moment of hesitation before Dante's voice returned to the scene, towering above. "Internal Data Transfer," he claimed. "It was, in part, my creation." Snake knew it now. He had figured it out, and put his hand to his ear before saying it all.  
  
"Hello?" It was Otacon. Snake sighed and then stood, blood still trickling down from his thigh.  
  
"Dante, Big Boss, Esher, Formal.they were all in league with Ocelot," Snake began. He knew there were several guns aimed at his forehead, but he was not afraid to go on. The breeze was whipping through his hair and sending it on end, as well as cooling his burning wound and sending a tingling sensation through his thigh. "Most of the Six Points was unaware of the alliance, but Klaymore knew."  
  
"I see you've figured it out," Ocelot interjected, but Snake didn't wait for him to continue. He had solved it. He would be the one to announce it.  
  
"The Compilation was going down, and you needed a new location, and this one had to be bigger so that it could do what Arsenal had tried to do. You formatted the Delta supercomputers to store the growing mass of information, and this was going to be your new home.  
  
"But Klaymore knew about it too. He wasn't going to let all of this go without punishment, and rigged the IDT system installed in the computer room so that when the alliance actually tried to move the data from the warehouse to here, the whole place would go up in flames. Otacon," Snake addressed, knowing he was listening on the Codec, "when you activated the IDT program, the explosives were armed and the data began to move from place to place."  
  
Snake had been counting since he got word from Klaymore. "We have 36 seconds to get off of this building, or we all die." Ocelot's gun went down, and Big Boss' did as well. "The clock is ticking." There was a smirk on his face - a sly grin. None of them were in control. They were all on the same schedule.watching the same clock.  
  
36 seconds. 


	36. Manhattan

Chapter Thirty-Six: Manhattan  
  
  
  
The Tiger fell back to watch over the rooftop, but four Black Hawk helicopters - relative to the Navy's Sea Hawk - ascended around Tower One, encircling the Tiger. Dante's eyes were darting back and forth, as were everyone else's. Snake could see Desperado smiling behind a pile of tresses with a look of triumph, and when he inspected them closer he noticed that they were harboring Army Rangers. Snake whipped back toward Big Boss and Ocelot as the Tiger was forced to pull away at higher altitudes, all of the Black Hawks ignoring his avail.  
  
Suddenly, the doors slid aside and ropes fell down over Desperado and Snake. "Otacon, are you out?" Snake asked through the Codec. There was no answer. "Otacon? You don't have much time. Hurry!" Snake took a hold of the rope and the Rangers within the hull began to pull him up in conjunction with his own climbing. Desperado was doing the same, and as they looked down on Big Boss and Ocelot they noticed no fear, shame, or hopelessness. Ocelot was grinning and Big Boss was holding his Marker and Beretta at the Black Hawks.  
  
"We always have a way out," Ocelot proclaimed, but only Big Boss heard it. Then, with plainness in his face, Snake muttered, "Now."  
  
The earth began to rumble, and a terrible wall of fire and steel blasted out the windows of the third, fourth, and fifth floors. But, another sound had alerted Snake, and it came from the edge of the island. He twisted around the side of the helicopter and watched as the warehouse in the distance was engulfed in flames. With the touch of that button, Klaymore had silenced the entire Patriot network.  
  
But, Snake had to turn back to the tower. And as he watched, the rooftop falling away, he could see the two men bracing the floor they stumbled upon. And then he saw Tower Two.its walls nearer than he thought. And as Tower One continued to descend upon Embassy Square, gray smoke billowing up from the growing plain of destruction, it fell askew and the higher floors crashed into Tower Two, disappearing through its walls and being hidden by what windows remained.  
  
"Damn!" Snake exclaimed, a Ranger's arm extended for him to grab. He looked over to Desperado, who was also deep in thought, and then yelled up to the Rangers aboard the helicopter, "Take me to Tower Two!" Desperado saw the helicopter shift toward Tower Two and repeated Snake's request to the Rangers in his own helicopter.  
  
In moments, both of them were dangling just feet over Embassy Square, the other two Black Hawks circling the rooftop of Tower Two. Snake and Desperado both dropped from the ropes and landed safely on the paved ground, Snake still grinding his teeth in pain and grabbing his thigh in frustration. He couldn't be as mobile as he wanted with the injury he had endured, but he couldn't simply watch from the sidelines and hope for the best. It was his job to see that Ocelot and Big Boss were gone.his job to see that the threat on Manhattan was eliminated.  
  
Desperado came over to him quickly, and helped him to stand. Snake looked at him, estranged. There were words he wanted to speak, but he couldn't. With Desperado he wasn't the legend any longer, but instead he was the apprentice, and with the wound he was even more of a hassle it seemed.  
  
"Thanks," Snake grunted. Desperado smiled a weak smile and slipped his Desert Eagles from their holsters at his hips. Letting the spent clips clatter against the pavement, he pulled one from the side of each gun and slipped it in. Then, he taped two more to their sides and holstered just one. Snake pulled his SOCOM from his holster and let his own clip fall to the ground, filling it with another and holding his hand out. Desperado pulled out a different roll of tape, its color red, and set it in Snake's hand. He quickly spun the tape around two more spare clips, and mounted them to the sides of his SOCOM. Folding the end of the tape under itself to make an easily handled slip of non-sticking tape to grip with its next use, he held it out in tribute to Desperado. He waved it off, closed it in Snake's hand, and then guided it to a pocket in Snake's sneaking suit. "It's yours," Desperado breathed, and then turned to the remains of Tower One. Snake did the same.  
  
The scent of fire was intense, burning under their noses, and a blinding plume of smoke was moving over them. Tower Two - just meters away - became hard to see through the shroud. Then, Snake remembered. "Otacon!"  
  
There was no answer.only silence, and the crack of the smoldering concrete in the heart of the wreckage.  
  
He holstered his SOCOM and took a number of steps toward the giant mound of steel and concrete, making a circle with his hands and setting them around his mouth as he yelled again, "Otacon!" The smoke was burning his wound, as well as his eyes. "Otacon.where are you?!" Now, he was walking aimlessly through the smoke, stumbling over the rubble and cracks in the cement floor of Embassy Square, now scorched black.  
  
Faultering, he dropped onto his knees, stopping himself with his hands, and kneeled before the fires. Desperado was close behind, walking slowly over to where Snake was kneeling and then standing apprehensively behind him. "Dammit, Otacon," Snake breathed. Where was he? Dead? Alive? Injured? In that aspect, Snake was forced to watch from the sidelines and hope for the best, but he couldn't do that. "Dammit, where are you?!"  
  
Desperado took another step forward and laid his hand on Snake's shoulder. Snake didn't shrug it off, but just knelt there for a moment, eyes closed, heart beating, hands flexing, body resting. And then, he stood and Desperado backed away, giving him the space he required.  
  
Snake stood idle for a time, looking into the burning concrete. The breeze toyed with his bandana - its other half in Otacon's possession - and the flames that ate away at the wreckage glimmered against him, illuminating his figure and sparkling against a drop of salty moisture that had accumulated at the corner of his eye. The smoke still pushing by him, he blinked, and the tear slid over his cheekbone before making the trip down his cheek and past the corner of his lips to the smooth point of his chin. It sat poised on his chin for a moment, grasping at his skin but being wrenched away by another force. But, it could not hold on.  
  
So it fell like a sparkling crystal through the air, purifying what it touched, and when it came near the smoldering wreckage before it, it flashed and disappeared with the lick of a tall flame. Snake shifted his weight onto his wounded leg and turned to face Desperado, his bandana still waving in the wind. Pulling his SOCOM from its holster yet again, he held it at his side and Desperado nodded in silent acknowledgement.  
  
Then, the two started off for Tower Two, the sky above no longer black but a navy. It was a wonder seeing such a pure sky on an island like Manhattan where artificial light always poisoned it. Desperado reached into his pant pocket and checked his pocket watch up close to his face. Snake noticed it, could see how similar it was to Ocelot's. He sighed heavily and pocketed it before coming to the doors of Tower Two. The left side of the building had been torn apart by Tower One, but they could not trek over the burning rubble to enter through the gap.  
  
Desperado opened the glass doors, his Desert Eagle in hand, and let Snake pass inside before him. Snake took a few steps inside and then stood relaxed for a moment after Desperado let the door close behind them. It was the silent type of door. It didn't click shut like wooden doors.  
  
Desperado was about to say something, but Snake put his index finger up in contest. Then, slowly, he stepped to the left and moved around the wall of the lobby area. Through another set of doors he and Desperado passed, finding themselves in a giant room. Past the lobby there were no offices, just one giant room - its ceiling thirteen stories high.  
  
He could see only some of the room, the flames of the wreckage outside shining inside, but where the windows remained, no light passed through. The windows were tinted.to the inside and the out.  
  
He could hear something moving high above, and could see a small hump of wreckage invading the room. But then, there was a loud clap and a moment passed before two clusters of ground lights flashed on, shining up on three figures at the right side of the room, and four at the left. Besides those two areas, everything was black but what shined in the light of the wreckage.  
  
"Otacon!" Snake yelled. There, standing on the right side of the room was Otacon, Jack.and Fox, who Snake figured had saved the two at some point. Otacon looked at Snake with all the joy he could muster, but then Snake noticed the situation on the left side of the room. Standing together was Mei Ling, Naomi, and the Colonel, and with two guns pointed on them was Wordsworth. Her magnificent green eyes sparkled.  
  
"Wordsworth!" Desperado called out, taking a few steps forward. She turned one of her guns at him and he stopped. "What you have done can never be excused." She simply smiled back at him, then holstering both of her guns and stepping forward. Naomi, Mei Ling, and the Colonel knew what she could do, and weren't about to retaliate, even with her back turned.  
  
"It is your own fault," she replied. "You were too stupid to realize my treachery. Too stupid and too old. You and your ninja friend have always been too old, too stupid, too slow. You're behind the times." Snake turned to Fox and saw him perfectly content. 'Why are the just standing there?' Snake thought, and then he remembered something Ocelot had said. He remembered it just as Fox dropped down behind him and pulled his sword from its sheath and cried, "Wordsworth! Traitor!"  
  
Snake turned around and looked at Fox, then turned and looked at the other Fox who stood beside Otacon and Raiden. 'Esher,' Snake thought. 'Esher.a mimic!'  
  
"Put your hands up!" Snake cried, raising his SOCOM and aiming it at the second Fox. He did not move. "I know it's you! You're Esher!" Then, in the middle of everything, another voice entered the fray, only this was one Snake thought he wouldn't ever have to hear again.  
  
"Snake.you are turning out to be quite the detective."  
  
"Ocelot!" Snake growled, and then a series of blue lights - all positioned along the outside of Tower Two - shot into the room, piercing the tinted windows and bearing witness to a haunting figure. Grasping the earlier invisible catwalks that lined the walls of Tower Two, was Alpha Gear, its eyes gleaming a blazing blue, and its body shining a metallic blue-gray. "It's a good catch!" Ocelot announced from its cockpit, and Snake saw how it had happened. Alpha Gear had caught the two as they fell in through the walls of Tower Two with the thirteenth floor of Tower One.  
  
"Big Boss?" Snake said quizzically.  
  
"Hello, son," he bellowed from the cockpit. Snake didn't understand, and Big Boss knew exactly how he felt. "You can't understand why we still fight by each other," he began, "but that is because you don't understand power. Alpha Gear requires two pilots, and our goals are stronger than our consciences. We can be enemies another time."  
  
Then, with the helicopters' rotors still echoing inside the cavernous room, Alpha Gear let go its grip on the catwalks and fell to the floor, crashing violently in the center of the room and shaking several catwalks from their positions.  
  
"You're crazy!" Snake hollered. Ocelot's maniacal cackle was all that followed. Fox, Desperado, and Snake were all three moving into the room - slowly but surely. Wordsworth had stepped back and was again holding two guns on Mei Ling, Naomi, and the Colonel, and Esher was sliding a blade from her sheath. Snake didn't understand the way that she mimicked.the clothing must be part of her body.like another layer of skin. But the blade.where could that have come from?  
  
Then, out of the silence, came a terrible screech of metal followed by the loud clap like thunder that was an usher to the event that followed. After just a few seconds, the roof of Tower Two busted inward and the concrete began to plummet to the floor aside the burning remains of a Black Hawk.  
  
Snake watched it, flames curling into the air behind it and its rotors still slightly spinning against the air. Nearly ten Rangers had been within it before it was struck by what he imagined was a missile born of the Tiger, and when it hit.they all were silenced. 'How have I been alive so long?' Snake thought to himself. 'Other soldiers die at my side, but I always make it through with a twisted ankle or a gunshot in the arm or leg. Why don't I die?'  
  
And then, the helicopter crashed against the floor and sputtered loudly before Alpha Gear. The navy sky appeared over their heads, as did three Black Hawks still circling what used to be the rooftop. And as the whole congregation turned toward the scorching Black Hawk, Snake's SOCOM fired a bullet. He watched as Esher turned swiftly around and deflected the shot with her blade. Snake stood, stunned. She could not only duplicate looks, clothes, and accessories.but also the skills, the agility, the strength, the personality, the attitude. Everything.  
  
But then, with Snake's first shot and Esher's first deflection, Desperado fired off his Desert Eagle at Wordsworth and Fox sprung toward Esher in a fit of rage. And Alpha Gear turned up its head toward Snake who now stood motionless before it. It was like that for a time.silent. Big Boss and Ocelot both looked upon Snake, and Snake looked upon the two of them. Besides them, there was no world. Everything else was independent.besides the fact. That's how it seemed.  
  
He actually came to admire it in an odd way. Its legs bent backward like past Metal Gear models, but built into them were several independent turrets. Metal Gear CELL had harbored a main cache system in its chest, and from that spot ammunition and fuel was transported throughout the body. Alpha Gear had learned from that model's vulnerability and had individual caches built around all of the weaponry systems.  
  
On its left shoulder there was mounted a giant cannon capable of firing LM2 rockets, and on its left shoulder there was a chain gun. Its arms were fixed with one laser each and several HOT missiles. And mounted on its back was the Rail Gun made famous by Metal Gear Rex. Stored in a compartment closed off from the rest of Alpha Gear's workings were three nuclear missiles capable of long-distance launches. Its neck was long, its head like the crunched face of a lizard, and its two eyes glowed an eerie blue, while remaining somewhat transparent to give Snake a pale sight of Ocelot and Big Boss both sitting in the cockpit. Ocelot sneered at him.  
  
And then.  
  
"Catch me if you can."  
  
Snake was the only one to hear it, and before he could act on it Alpha Gear had pushed off on its legs and bounded into the air like it had at the tanker so many years ago. And then it stretched over the lip of the building and dropped onto the streets, crashing through them a few feet and then picking its legs out of them before beginning its tour of the city.  
  
Snake ran then. He went back out the doors in the lobby room and hustled around the right side of the building, leaving the others to their own troubles. And when he had found the street on which Alpha Gear was walking, a Black Hawk descended at his side, blowing dust into the air and forcing him away even as he walked toward it.  
  
The Rangers quickly hopped out of the hull, huddling in front of Snake with faces of question. "What do you ask of us, sir?" one of them said, and Snake looked at them, his face contorted. He'd never given orders in such a fashion. "Sir?" They stood ready, guns in hand. How had they known to come to him?  
  
"Inside," Snake said. "There is a man named Desperado inside. He'll tell you what to do." They all seemed relieved to hear the name Desperado mentioned, and with Snake's request they performed a group salute. Snake surveyed them for a moment and then raised his hand to his brow. Then, dropping it to his side, they all did the same.  
  
"Thank you, sir," one of them said, and they hurried around the side of Tower Two and quickly into the building. The pilot of the Black Hawk looked over the back of his seat and waved Snake inside. "Come on! We'll catch up!" the man said, and Snake bound hastily into the hull. He shot a look back through the walls of Tower Two, pierced by the blue lights positioned around the building, and saw the Rangers enter the room. It was nearly ten on two.  
  
"Good luck, Otacon," Snake breathed, and the helicopter lifted off of the ground. In just a few moments he was soaring over apartments and office buildings, restaurants and florists shops. Ahead were two bright, gleaming eyes, staring at Snake from nearly ten stories high. And in the Black Hawk's own lights, and with the assistance of a fairly large spotlight on its right 'wing' Alpha Gear shone like a crown jewel amidst the darkness of the city.  
  
"Take me down!" Snake ordered. He could see the hunger in Alpha Gear's eyes, and his heart was filled with nothing but the same. The pilot turned his head and looked over the back of his seat. Snake saw his wariness but nodded his head. "Take me down." The pilot sighed and then turned his head again.  
  
There was uneasiness in Snake's stomach, but it was overpowered by a strong sense of anxiousness. He'd been waiting for this day for so long, and as he looked back at Tower Two and the remains of Tower One, and then out to the warehouse that was still smoldering in the distance, he saw his entire trail. He could see the harbor in the pale moonlight and he could faintly make out the demolished coffee shop.Battery Park.Tribeca and the bridge, both hit by Klaymore's rage.it was everything he'd been through.  
  
And then, standing before him as the Black Hawk touched down, as the pilot wished him good luck and told him to watch for the Tiger, and as he stepped out on the cleared road, he saw not Alpha Gear.but Big Boss and Ocelot. He didn't see a giant robot, he saw two foolishly brilliant, insanely sane, powerfully weak, terribly wonderful, boys of men. They were held up with the aspirations of childhood, and were no more powerful than himself.  
  
He grasped his SOCOM at his side, looked up from his feet, and let all expression fade. And they stood there, facing each other in silence through two blue screens. The breeze was dying now - coming in short gusts and then going for minutes. It was when it stopped completely, inspiring a sense of uneasiness, that Alpha Gear slouched and stretched its neck out toward Snake putting its head level with his and just a number of meters away.  
  
"How's the leg?" Ocelot joked. Snake did not answer. He waited no more than a second and jerked his SOCOM upward, aimed it directly into the right eye, and fired three shots. Sparks ran through the blue glow and then it shorted out as Alpha Gear whipped its head back and forced out its arms. Snake jumped back a few feet as two red streams of light seared the road beneath him. They had come from the arms of Alpha Gear. They were the lasers.  
  
Snake was quick to the right when they fell toward him again. He ran a contorted track of the street, sending the lasers through each other at several points to make them fire off in another direction - sometimes hitting a car, a fire escape, or a trash can.  
  
"On Shadow Moses," Ocelot began, still sending the lasers after Snake who was still running ahead of them, "you challenged Metal Gear Rex. Today, you challenge Rex, Ray, Arsenal, CELL, and all that were before it." Ocelot sneered, though Snake could not see his face. "You have come a long way. I wonder if tradition will suit you here?"  
  
Suddenly, the lasers receded into the arms of Alpha Gear and the machine took several steps back, pushing dents and breaking cracks in the street as it moved. Snake could see the cannon on its right shoulder.the chain gun on its left.and could barely make out that there was an abstract form on its back, but besides those three weapons he was only left to guess.  
  
And then, the chain gun began to shell out its power sending a wave of heavy gunfire. Snake had no way to counter this besides running. And he did just that. Left. Right. Left. Back. Forward. Back. Right. Forward. The chain gun's aim was precise and its speed was amazing. Snake was hardly a meter ahead when the bullets thrashed down at him, and they only grew closer as time wore on.  
  
But it all stopped then. The chain gun began to cool and the wind began to pick up. Snake's wound was bleeding more than before and the pain was shooting up like waves though his entire leg. His breathing was growing heavy and painfully sound, while his face was slowly coated with a thin layer of perspiration.  
  
The breeze was a blessing. Even as worn and tired he had become, he felt cool and refreshed when the wind graced his skin, curled up around his face, and massaged his cheeks. He put his wrist on his forehead and slowly wiped the sweat away. Looking up at Alpha Gear with a grim smirk on his face and seeing only one blue light staring intently back at him, he said: "How's the eye?"  
  
Alpha Gear's right arm burst forward, but just as Snake was about to jump aside he noticed that the wind had never stopped. There was a quick surge of red light gathering at the tip of Alpha Gear's arm - built similar to Ray's - but before it had broken free, a well-placed HOT missile flashed into view, landing in Alpha Gear's right shoulder.  
  
A terrible cry escaped its mouth as fire ran across its shoulder and as a black smoke lifted from its new wound. But beneath the black was the faint glow of green, and when the smoke had eventually cleared Snake could see the shoulder in tact and unscathed. "The Perfect Cell," Snake muttered.  
  
"Dante!" Big Boss exclaimed as the Tiger whipped over Alpha Gear and turned swiftly around. Dante laughed, his voice amplified like Big Boss' and Ocelot's over the city. The right arm lifted again, aiming into the sky, and sent a line of red light past the Tiger's cockpit. Dante pulled instinctively away and sought higher altitude to stall.  
  
But, as the two machines waited each other out, a sound - originating in Embassy Square - was growing. Snake had turned, his eyes searching through the night, trying to grab onto something. And then, the sound became more defined, and white and red spots of light shot through the darkness revealing the tail and nose of three Black Hawks flying nearly five stories into the air.  
  
Alpha Gear detected their presence, but was unable to act against them - Dante piloting the Tiger wildly above and firing rounds of gunfire to the earth. Snake watched as the Black Hawks fell in altitude and hovered for a moment above the street before setting down and unloading the passengers - Army Rangers.  
  
They rushed hurriedly past Snake, saluting as if part of a routine, and continuing on toward Alpha Gear. They weaved out of the streets and found shelter behind buildings and other things, Alpha Gear still preoccupied with the Tiger.  
  
"Snake!" Otacon called, and Snake turned an anxious eye to the Black Hawks that lay behind him now. Rushing out of the second Black Hawk was Otacon, his white lab coat dancing in the wind and his glasses shaking with his footsteps. About his forehead, strung under his hair, was a ragged piece of cloth. Snake smiled when he saw it.  
  
"Otacon," he muttered, noting the half of his bandana around his friend's head, and hugged him firmly. Snake hadn't felt to oppose the act, and when it happened it happened easily and expectedly. Otacon and he smiled over each other's shoulders, their hands clapping each other's backs in a jovial manner.  
  
Then, they parted and Snake looked Otacon over. "You're still in good shape," he joked, and Otacon nodded.  
  
"Snake! Good to see you," another voice came. Stepping forward from the third Black Hawk, followed by others who were ducking out of the other two as well - all familiar faces to Snake - was Desperado. His shotgun was tapping the street as he walked, a UMP 450 dangling oddly from his belt, and a Marker in his other free hand.  
  
"You too," Snake admitted, shaking Desperado's hand and scanning the growing crowd, subtly taking in every face. The Colonel stood bleeding from the arm in the back, Otacon was standing beside Desperado, Mei Ling and Naomi were huddled together beside Jack - who stood appearing bored with the pleasantries - and Fox was poised on the edge of the second black Hawk's doorway, his toes sitting upon a thin metal strip, his knees pointed outward, and his torso standing straight and steady.  
  
Desperado still wore his black trench coat, but Fox had discarded his somewhere along the way, and wore only his ninja suit - now equipped with the mask and that red-gleaming eye. Snake felt a wave of comfort wash over him, born of his friends and companions. The situation he had earlier faced alone, had become bearable with their presence.  
  
"Wordsworth and Esher?" he asked.  
  
"Gone," Desperado answered, balancing his shotgun skillfully against his leg and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "They weren't able enough to take all of us at once, but they weren't so weak as to fall with a single bullet. There'll be no coming out of this without a bruise or a break, if there'll be any coming out of it at all, which I strongly hope there will be."  
  
"No need for prayers," Snake waved his hand. "We have this now. The Rangers are attacking from the ground. We'll strike from the air." He examined the Black Hawks, pointing out rope ladders wound up in each one's hull. "These," he said, hopping inside one of the Black Hawks and finding the end of the ladder. He quickly strung the rope about the edge of the helicopter and motioned for the pilot to take off.  
  
Stepping away, Snake watched. The helicopter drifted into the air, Fox looking up at it as it went, and the rope ladder unraveled toward the ground. Snake turned to the others. "Set 'em up and saddle up."  
  
Snake grappled the ladder as the helicopter lifted higher into the sky, followed by Mei Ling and Naomi - all three climbing to the brink of the helicopter and climbing inside. They watched, from where they hovered, the other two Black Hawks being boarded and modified with the rope ladders, then waited for them to glide into the air.  
  
The rotors whipped about loudly, but Snake managed to find a radio sitting between the pilot's seats. He brought it up in his hand and held down the side button with his thumb. "Hilo 2," he began, "is this coming through?" He waited a moment. "Hilo 2?"  
  
"Read you loud and clear, Snake," the Colonel answered. Snake took a moment to process the voice before continuing.  
  
"What kind of arsenal are you carrying?" Snake asked, and waited for the Colonel to check the hull of the second helicopter.  
  
"We have a Stinger, no more than six rockets.three M4's.and a load of grenades," the Colonel returned.  
  
"Whose with you?"  
  
"Jack and Otacon are both here."  
  
"Have Otacon handle the radio from here. Have Jack handle the Stinger. Throw grenades at Alpha Gear's head, and fire away with the M4's immediately after."  
  
"Roger that, Snake."  
  
"And Colonel," Snake paused, "good luck." The Colonel nodded and smiled, and then passed the radio to Otacon, who listened as Snake contacted the third Black Hawk.  
  
"Hilo 3? Come in, Hilo 3."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Desperado, you hearing me?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Fox?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"What's going on over there?"  
  
Finally, a terrible scream of gunfire scorches the air, and a Black Hawk - Hilo 3 - swings by, narrowing avoiding a collision with Hilo 1. There's a yell from the hull of Hilo 3, that belonging to Desperado, and then a procession of shotgun rounds being fired and Nikita missiles being discharged into the night, aimed at the Tiger that was darting through the air like a humming bird.  
  
"Damn!" Snake huffed, retracting into the helicopter and pressing hard on the side button of the radio. "Otacon?"  
  
"Yea, Snake, I hear you," Otacon answered, calmly.  
  
"Tell Jack to target the Tiger," Snake rattled off in a hurried fashion. "We need it out of the sky. Don't worry about Alpha Gear now. The Rangers should keep it occupied." He quickly recoiled into the depths of the Black Hawk, searching in the night for something to use against the enemies about.  
  
The Rangers were, indeed, handling Alpha Gear. They had armed themselves with a fabulous array of weaponry, ranging from Beretta pistols to Stinger rocket launchers. They moved through the streets skillfully, as if they had developed a deep knowledge of that area of Manhattan. It was no trouble for them to find barriers and blockades or walls of shattered cement behind which to reload their weapons and compose their thoughts.  
  
Alpha Gear, though, was not sustaining enough damage to falter in the battle. It continued to send out waves of HOT missiles and hails of gunfire, and the damage it did take was quickly repaired through use of the Cell Drive. It was indeed a machine to marvel at.  
  
The Tiger continued to rage through the skies, its speed and power great but its agility giving it a certain grace. It disturbed the winds, sending gusts throughout the sky and sending the Black Hawks into uncontrolled spins and follies - all which the pilots were able to maneuver their ways out of. But still, the Tiger and Alpha Gear posed a great threat against the company and its comrades of Army Rangers.  
  
Snake came out of the darkness with a Stinger over his shoulder. Naomi had found a number of missiles deeper in the hull of the helicopter, and kept them nearby as he lowered himself on the rope ladder, wrapping his left arm around one of the rungs and supporting his lower body with his right leg - his left still pained from the bullet that remained deep within his thigh.  
  
Wincing, he worked to seek out the Tiger flying tauntingly above Hilo 2. He could see Otacon yelling things to Hilo 3, not far away, but none of the messages were reaching Fox or Desperado. Jack, though, had managed to step down on the rope ladder and was aiming frantically for the Tiger that he and Snake both knew was far too near to fire upon.  
  
Snake disregarded it, turning an eye to Alpha Gear and taking aim at the cockpit. Waiting for a time, assessing the way that Ocelot and Big Boss piloted it, he saw it fire HOT missiles and its laser into tall apartment building bringing fire escapes down to scorch the streets and to topple over crowds of Army Rangers.  
  
There was a hiss, sending Snake backward a ways, and a rocket launched away from the Stinger supported over his shoulder. The sky seemed to shake, the rocket continuing a smooth, perfect path toward Alpha Gear's cockpit, but in the last moment it turned its glowing eye at the rocket and as if part of instinct a laser shot up from its arm and met with the spire of iron and explosives, and produced a cloud of red and orange before it.  
  
When the debris cleared, falling through the air and drifting like grains of sand over the streets, the glowing eye shot its terrible glare at Snake and he looked plainly into it, knowing that Ocelot and Big Boss sat patiently behind it. Hoisting the Stinger into the hull of the Black Hawk, Naomi loaded a rocket into it, and lowered it back down to him. He set it on his shoulder, his expression unchanging, and steadied it on his target.  
  
Then, another hiss, and the rocket was set loose.  
  
But, when this one was obliterated before that terrible glowing eye, another, in flight just a second after Snake's and hissing onward from Hilo 2, impacted against the right of Alpha Gear's neck and made it shudder sideways, its 'feet' digging into the street and pushing against the force of the explosion.  
  
Snake's Stinger was reloaded now, and he raised it up to his shoulder again, waiting for the Rangers to draw the attention of Alpha Gear away. And then, only seconds after the first rocket had struck the neck of the machine Snake sent out another.  
  
The neck was glowing an eerie green, the Cell Drive working laboriously to repair the fissure. But, even when Alpha Gear turned and destroyed Snake's second rocket, another came bursting forward from Hilo 2, hardly missing the fissure, but its explosion still breaking through the neck and tearing the partly repaired fissure deeper. Sparks burst from the wound, and the green glow stopped glowing, the head turning much slower now.  
  
Snake turned from Alpha Gear to Hilo 2, holding his thumb up to Otacon and smiling. But, as Otacon worked to return the gesture, the Tiger sent a wail of gunfire down upon Hilo 2 and broke a tear in its hull and damaging the rotors. The whole thing shook, smoke rising up from the rotors and Otacon tipping out of the helicopter - barely catching a low rung of the ladder.  
  
Snake climbed up into the hull of the helicopter and waved the pilot toward Hilo 2, grabbing the radio in his hand and raising it to his lips.  
  
"Hilo 2!" he cried, but there was no response.  
  
"Snake," Desperado began, hurried but calm. "Snake, Hilo 2 is hit."  
  
"Aim for the Tiger!" Snake cried again. "Knock the Tiger out of the air!" Throwing the radio aside, he peered out of the helicopter and watched as they came closer to Hilo 2. It was losing altitude - losing it fast. "Damn you, Dante," he muttered to himself, and watched as Otacon climbed direly up the ladder, his arms weakening and his glasses sliding off his face and being swept up through the skies as the Tiger bolted past, churning the air and pushing Hilo 2 through its currents like a rag doll in a tornado.  
  
The descent was inevitable. Unstoppable. And even as Snake came nearer, it was impaired by another wave of gunfire - biting through it like a mouth of razor teeth and tearing at it with the jaws of a ferocious beast. The rotors spun apart, torn through the turbulent winds and thrown to the ground, and the hull began to split, spewing smoke and flame throughout the sky.  
  
Everything seemed to stop then. Hilo 3 had fired two Stinger rockets at the Tiger, pinning it in its tail and sending it into an uncontrollable spinout. Alpha Gear's right leg had been crippled by the Rangers. The Rangers had taken cover from falling debris. Hilo 1 watched the sights in awe, their eyes filling with fear and surprise. And Hilo 2 pulled itself apart as it came to the streets, its body spinning in several different directions.  
  
The rotors had struck a florist shop, the front half had fallen in flames to the streets and had been completely obliterated on impact, the back half had caught an unusual updraft of air and had skidded along the streets sparks flying and a fire still burning inside it, and the rope ladder tore loose from hull and fell like a dead stick to the street - a 15 foot fall.  
  
Snake saw the wreckage, the disaster. Desperado was watching from Hilo 3, his eyes stinging. But, Snake couldn't see them all dying. He couldn't see it, couldn't accept it. The Colonel, Jack, Otacon.no. No, they couldn't be lost.  
  
The Tiger, its spin continuing to the ground, let out a soft hiss and the two cockpit areas sprung into the air, leaving the helicopter to burn across the streets. The cockpits spun, too, flipping and twisting in the sky, and when the parachutes shot out their tops they worked to right themselves but there was hardly any hope for recovery.  
  
In a violent spin, the parachutes curled themselves around the cockpits and they began to fall like bricks through the air. Alpha Gear's glowing eye watched in hungry anticipation, a grin on Ocelot's face within, and when the cockpits crashed against the street, pieces scattering through the air and shattering windows and walls with unbelievable force, everything seemed to abandon its amazement and return to the battle.  
  
Snake was hunched over, his head out of the helicopter, his eyes tightly shut and his hands grinding at the metal stripped edge. Mei Ling was curled up in the shadows and Naomi waved the pilot toward the wreckage of Hilo 2. They began to descend, Hilo 3 giving them cover fire and hovering over Alpha Gear unloading grenades and rockets and gunfire.  
  
The ground came nearer, Snake's eyes parting only slightly. He could see the trail of debris left from the crash, and he could spot two bodies still latched onto the rope ladder. The rest was a mesh of grays and blacks and fiery oranges.  
  
And then, there was a slight break in the smoothness of the ride, and the helicopter touched down on the street. Snake unacknowledged both Naomi and Mei Ling and, seemingly coming out of his distressing trance, tumbled out of the helicopter and righted himself, standing tall and steady for a moment, watching the flames eat away at the street and crackle in the dark night. There was a current of warm and cold air, mixed about and coming in strides. It brought wetness to his eyes, a wetness that he managed to withhold for a time, stepping slowly forward.  
  
The sounds of war echoed still in his ears and mind, guns still being fired off and explosions still capturing the attention of those attentive few. Snake was far from the battle, though. He was in another land. He was standing in an old battlefield, one of tragedy and death. One where his people had lost, and the enemy and prevailed.  
  
And then he was standing over them. He knelt down beside the crumpled body that was hidden under a white lab coat and the wetness began to fall down his face, etching a trail down his cheeks and slipping into the air and splashing over the street. "Otacon," he murmured, Mei Ling and Naomi watching from a distance.  
  
Snake's head bowed over his friend, and he began to shudder, his arms growing weak and his legs falling under him. He began to take deeper breaths, his tears coming silently and without a whimper of pain. The sight, not the sound, was the captivating thing about it. Both Mei Ling and Naomi could hardly stand as well. And it was not their pain that did so, but Snake's. They could see it in him as he was crouched there, over Otacon, his body weakening and decomposing in the glow of a burning fire.  
  
"You're not lost," Snake said quietly. "You're not lost yet." He set his hand on his friend's side and felt him shudder under it, his lips beginning to part and words coming forth, disconnected.  
  
"Sn - ake," Otacon tried. "You.you're he - re." Snake fought off a face of worry and answered firmly. "Yea, Otacon. I'm here." He looked around, seeing Jack nearby, clutching at the rope ladder still. "Stay here, Otacon. Don't try and move. Just relax." Otacon tried to nod, but just grunted.  
  
Snake stood; turning to Jack who he could see was trying to move. "Don't move!" Snake cried, and Jack fell limp and exhausted. Then, he took sight of the raging inferno of the wreckage and noticed the missing body - the Colonel.  
  
Running urgently to the back half of the helicopter that lay mainly in ruin, its frame still in tact. He bounded over heaps of rubble and stopped before the ruin, the fire glinting in his eyes. His head went around frantically, his eyes searching hungrily for the Colonel, but he saw him nowhere. The flames were eating at the helicopter, nearly engulfing it entirely, and Snake could see a body hunched awkwardly against a pole of iron, only feet from the fires.  
  
Snake jumped forward, stepping over small licks of orange and red, and turning around blocks of wreckage. The Colonel was in the center of the ruin, his right arm cramped strangely against his body and blood spilling down from his shoulder and his stomach. When Snake reached him, the fire igniting the street beneath them, he fell silent and his heart slowed almost suddenly, his sweat turning cold even among the fires.  
  
The face that looked back at him was pale and subdued, the eyes vacant and still. His right arm had been badly broken, the bone pushing out of the shoulder of his army jacket. His left leg was folded under him at an impossible angle, and a spike of metal had impaled him in the stomach. His face, though, was undisturbed and peaceful. There was no terror or horror in it, but a striking sense of honor and completeness.  
  
Snake fell onto his knee before him, no tears falling from his eyes but a great wonder filling his heart. He closed his eyes, a firm sentiment on his face, and knelt for a moment. He realized the courage and the honor that he'd never seen in the Colonel before. He saw, now, sadly when there was no time left to change the happenings, that that Colonel was no cold man dictating lies and pointless missions, but a man who had once been just like Snake. He was honorable, strong-willed, and a compassionate warrior in his own day. And knowing that, Snake stood, lifted him up in his arms, and carried him over the wreckage, laying him back down not far from Jack and Otacon.  
  
Mei Ling was treating to Jack, and Naomi to Otacon. They both looked up at Snake, and seeing his face, looked down to the pavement to note the Colonel's body. They both drooped their heads and said their own prayers and the like before a terrible eruption of flame and debris excited the company from the battlefield.  
  
Snake turned swiftly around and watched as Alpha Gear fired off a blind arsenal of missiles, lasers, and gunfire that sent the Rangers behind their fortifications and Hilo 3 away from the sight. And when the assault had died, Alpha Gear began to slip powerlessly out of control and crashed against an old office building, deep wounds in both its legs and its arms. The head tilted sideways, and Snake saw it open onto the roof of the building, the wind picking up and the moon turning a pale blue, heated ethers rising up in the foreground and painting a stunning picture of the night.  
  
Snake saw two forms moving about on the roof and without another moment's hesitation, he bolted toward Hilo 1, jumping into the hull and pointing the pilot toward the rooftop not far away. The Black Hawk lifted off of the street and streaked through the air, coming up on the building and the crippled alpha Gear that was leaned against it.  
  
Then, the wind blowing about, the Black Hawk lifted over the lip of the office building and two figures, their dressings tossing in the wind, stopped side by side and turned menacingly toward the helicopter. There, standing in the doorway was Snake, his suit battered and bloodstained, and his SOCOM aimed steadily at them. "Stop," he said plainly, and stepped calmly out of the helicopter, dropping onto the lip of the building and standing boldly on the edge.  
  
Ocelot and Big Boss looked both worried, discouraged, and amusingly at him. Neither of them thought to reach for their guns, just stood their and watched Snake as he took another step down to their level, his face stern and expressionless. "Trying to get away," Snake began, slowly walking over to them. They did not change. They did not shift. They stood unwavering there.  
  
"This is the end of the line," Snake said. "You don't have any Navy SEALS do you?" he asked Ocelot with a smile.  
  
"It does not end here," Ocelot proclaimed, but Snake shook his head and waved his index finger, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  
  
"Wrong. The President of the United States has challenged you. He has control over what you once thought was your own. You're power only reaches as far as the mind. It depended on fear, but there is no fear any longer. No power goes undefeated. This is the revolution of our day. This is the end for both of you."  
  
Big Boss nodded with a sarcastic smile, and in a second a gun was in his hand, a twisted grin was on his face, and a hole was in his chest opposite his heart. The gun fell from his hand, clattering against the rooftop, and he lay his body twisted and blood seeking out of his chest. Ocelot looked down on him and his face turned serious and angry.  
  
The sound of a helicopter was coming nearer, and over Snake's shoulder came Hilo 3 - Fox and Desperado leaping out, along with a horde of Army Rangers. Desperado and Fox stopped on Snake's left and the Rangers swarmed Ocelot. Snake looked at Desperado almost disconcertingly, as if the Rangers couldn't take Ocelot, but Desperado laughed and nodded. "I'll handle this."  
  
Stepping forward, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and to Ocelot's disgust, snapped them over his wrists and read him his rights. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed." Then, walking away from him, his back turned, he muttered: "THAT'S how our country does things."  
  
Snake lowered his SOCOM and pointed to Big Boss, who seemed to still be alive, gripping onto life. Desperado turned an eye over his shoulder and noted the body. He nodded. "We'll take care of it." Snake looked at Desperado with an air of curiosity and confusion. Desperado, sensing his bewilderment, pulled something from his wallet and held it up before his friend - an ID.with the insignia of the United States printed beside his picture.  
  
"I've been with the U-FAC for a long time. But I've been a part of the government for much longer. I was sent into U-FAC to investigate it. The orders I was given from the White House was to do anything to gain the trust of the organization. To reacquaint myself with Ocelot, who I'd known from many years ago, was what I had to do to gain that trust, but because of my fault of allowing myself to be identified by Formal, the organization fell apart."  
  
"I have a friend who is part of the U.S. government," Snake said with a laugh. "I didn't know that sort of thing could happen." Desperado smiled, and the two watched as Ocelot and Big Boss were secured inside the Black Hawk along with the remaining Rangers atop the roof, and flown away - Ocelot's face darker than it had ever been and his mind screaming that it was still not over. For Ocelot, things would never be over.  
  
Another Black Hawk came over the roof, hovering above them and then landing. Otacon and Jack were slumped against its hull, their eyes barely opened and weak smiles on their faces. The Colonel was laying inside, and Mei Ling and Naomi both came bustling out of the helicopter, smiles on their faces. Naomi jumped up, her arms curling around her brother's neck and hugged him tighter than she ever had. Mei Ling blasted against Desperado, an action that caught him by surprise, and squeezed him like he was a stuffed animal she had once loved.  
  
Snake smirked and went over to the helicopter, looking over the Colonel and then up at Otacon and Jack who had hardly managed to scoot to the edge. Otacon's arm was in a sling, and patches of his coat were tied around his legs where blood was spilling forth. Snake winced but Otacon smiled.  
  
"It's.not that bad," he said, and Snake laughed, looking at Jack who was without bandages but bleeding in several locations. 'He's definitely getting to that point,' Snake told himself. 'One of these days he'll be just like you, you old brute,' he poked at himself.  
  
"We aren't making the sunrise this time," Fox said, and Snake grinned, turning his head to the moon that lit the city abroad, and the brilliant night sky, splashed with gray-blue clouds that appeared like water colors on a dark canvas of stars.  
  
"I think this will cut it," Snake said, and the company watched, in awe of the great twilight, from the peak of the great, shining city.  
  
.of Manhattan.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That's it!! It's taken me SO long to write this chapter, and SO much concentration to write this story, but more than time and effort - passion. I truly hope that you enjoyed this story, maybe even better than my last, for it is not just the continuation of the legacy of Metal Gear Solid - started by the great Hideo Kojima - but a tale infused with my own love for the series. It was a step I believed the series should take, and a level I am proud of reaching. Thank you, all, for having helped me on this journey. And thank you, all, for reading! THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!! - espresso ( 


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